


Promise

by SimplyLucia



Series: About Robert's Rebellion [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Battle of the Trident, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Friendship, Friendship between Ned and Robert, Mentions of Rape, Ned's POV, Robert's Rebellion, Sack of King's Landing, Tourney at Harrenhal (mentioned), Tower of Joy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned Stark's POV on Robert's Rebellion, from his last days in the Eyrie to his return to Winterfell: how war shook his certainties, changed his vision of life and made him lie to keep a promise.</p><p>"Brothers, sisters," Ashara said with a saturnine smile. "You would have done anything to find your sister. I can't help defending my brother's memory. Which one of us is right?"<br/>"I have no talent for charades, my lady. Perhaps we are both right."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Should I blame season 6 of GoT for making me go over this story and edit it? I wrote this a while ago and posted it on FF.net. This fic belongs to the series 'About Robert's Rebellion', along with 'Two-and-Ten' and a third fic about Jon Connington. Three different POVs on Robert's Rebellion, faithful to the books but you can read the stories separately.
> 
> Edited by Underthenorthernlights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters belong to George R. R. Martin.

For some years, the castle of the Eyrie had been Ned's home and the craggy landscape of the Vale, his only horizon. His family came down to a man in his late fifties, who fostered him, and a boy who was his age, but whose character was so different from his people generally didn't understand the bond between them. Lord Jon Arryn represented the only father figure he knew and Robert Baratheon was his closest companion, almost a brother. Sometimes, it seemed to Ned the features of his father and his brother became blurred and his life was there, in the impregnable fortress looming over the Vale. Yet, the Tourney at Harrenhal, some months before, had questioned everything.

The Year of False Spring had forced him to reconsider who he was and who was his family. Who was his friend. And now he felt like in the middle of the ford; it was difficult but he could only go further and try to reach the other side, whatever the cost.

When he thought about the Tourney at Harrenhal and its beginning, he remembered his shock when he had seen her again; he had almost forgotten what it was to have a sister. When people complimented her for her beauty and for her betrothal to the heir of Storm's End, she hardly thanked them, her eyes always on the lances or on the caparisoned horses: she wasn't there for small talk. Lyanna was better than many contestants, she knew it and it gave her pins and needles in the legs.

Lyanna was a will-o'-the-wisp – and Robert's presence in Harrenhal had nothing to do with it. Her fits of laughter, her whims, her secrets were parts of an exotic land he had left long ago. The tourney was like a new opportunity to visit this foreign country and he felt both disoriented and charmed. Day after day, she surprised him and they became again a brother and his sister. What they lived together when the Knight of the Laughing Tree made his entrance, gave them the illusion nothing could resist them. Even the sagacious Prince Rhaegar. _Unstoppable, that's how we felt._ Then, at the end of the Tourney, when the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree only seemed a trick imagined by children, the consequences of their game frightened him. Ned had kissed his sister on the forehead before they parted. Lyanna had said something about him becoming sentimental and he had glared at her, making her laugh heartily. It was the last time he had seen his sister's long dark braids and heard her laughter.

Time was flying, and the mismatched armor of the mystery knight was just a memory. As he leaned against the balcony of his bedchamber, Ned felt like an old man summoning the ghosts of his past. _Where is she, now?_ Every time he thought of Lyanna, he saw her smiling and laughing. _How come I can't remember our quarrels?_ Someone knocked at the door and put an end to his reverie. One of the old servants came in and explained Ned's presence was required in the High Hall. He nodded gravely, then walked out of his bedroom.

He didn't know what to expect when he strode along the corridors of the Eyrie. The last raven had revealed Lyanna's abduction and he still clang to the faint hope his brother Brandon had found her: Brandon would certainly move mountains to find their sister. Not being in the North to help his older brother was Ned's only regret. Besides, Lyanna was not like most high-born ladies; she was strong-willed, she could resist her captors. _She's a fighter. If someone can survive this, she will._ The notion someone _hurt_ her sickened him though. H _is fists clenched down by his sides._ _Brandon will get revenge and I'll gladly help him kill whoever took her away._

Ned's heart beat faster as he pushed open the heavy door of the High Hall. At the sight of the walls made of blue-veined marble, new comers often felt like the temperature in the High Hall was lower than in any other part of the castle. He knew the High Hall; he even used to play there with Robert, but when he saw Jon Arryn's grim expression at the end of the never-ending table, it seemed to Ned that the narrow windows were open, allowing a chilly wind to blow in the spectacular room. His footsteps echoed under the vault, breaking the heavy silence.

Robert was there, as well. After all, Lyanna was betrothed to him. Since her kidnapping, Robert was a shadow of his former self. The tall and broad-shouldered young man was stooping and avoided people's gaze. However, as soon as he caught a glimpse of his friend, Ned sensed there was something completely different: restless, Robert was pacing up and down. He even shouted something at Jon Arryn, but Ned was too far to understand his words. Before Ned reached them, Robert stormed out of the High Hall, ignoring his surprise and Arryn's frowning.

Now that they were alone, Ned stared at the man who had fostered him for so long and felt unable to speak. At first, Arryn remained silent too, as if he suddenly feared another burst of anger, then, when tension became palpable, he held out a scroll.

"Your lord father," Arryn said in his baritone voice. "Your brother found out who abducted your sister."

"Who?" Since he had been told Lyanna had disappeared, he couldn't fathom the captors' motives. When sleep shunned him, he spent hours wondering who might have done this...

Arryn swallowed painfully. "Prince Rhaegar. Prince Rhaegar abducted Lyanna."

Something inside Ned broke and he wasn't able to hear whatever Arryn explained him afterwards. _The Tourney... We are responsible. I am to be blamed if..._

"... your brother rode South and went to the court with some of his companions. Now King Aerys summons your father and his companions' fathers to court."

His head was pounding.

"House Royce, House Mallister, House Glover summoned to court as if they were thieves and murderers! Can you imagine it, Eddard? And to say that my nephew, Elbert, is out there. You know what it means," Arryn added. "It can only end in blood."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadows lengthened across the solar's tiles as they waited for Robert. A servant had told Arryn that he wouldn't be long, but the poor lad underestimated Robert's ability to try everyone's patience. Arryn pushed himself from his armchair and began to pace up and down, cursing in an undertone.  
> "Could you tell me what it is?" Eddard finally asked, coveting the scroll at the end of the long solid oak table. A few hours ago, a raven had arrived and Arryn asked Eddard to come forthwith. The Lord of the Vale shook his head and glared at him.  
> "But I can't! Robert has to be here. Where is he?"  
> Ned was certainly not responsible for his friend's lack of punctuality but as usual, Arryn held him accountable. It was how things worked: Robert misbehaved and Arryn lectured Eddard, because lecturing the Stormlands youth was counterproductive.

The shadows lengthened across the solar's tiles as they waited for Robert. A servant had told Arryn that he wouldn't be long, but the poor lad underestimated Robert's ability to try everyone's patience. Arryn pushed himself from his armchair and began to pace up and down, cursing in an undertone.

"Could you tell me what it is?" Eddard finally asked, coveting the scroll at the end of the long solid oak table. A few hours ago, a raven had arrived and Arryn asked Eddard to come forthwith. The Lord of the Vale shook his head and glared at him.

"But I can't! Robert _has_ to be here. Where is he?"

Ned was certainly not responsible for his friend's lack of punctuality but as usual, Arryn held him accountable. It was how things worked: Robert misbehaved and Arryn lectured Eddard, because lecturing the Stormlands youth was counterproductive.

"Tell me," Eddard insisted.

Arryn froze and pointed at him angrily.

"I told you I can't, because Robert is not here!" he bellowed.

_And if Robert was here instead of me, if I was late, would you wait for me like this?_ Sometimes Eddard considered there was a double standard: Arryn always cared for Robert and asked where he was, but he almost ignored him. He looked at Arryn's wrinkled face and couldn't decide whether he should speak or keep his thoughts for himself.

A knock made them turn around, but Arryn growled in discontentment when he saw an old serving man sticking his head in the door. "They're here, m'lord."

"Send them in," Arryn grunted.

Startled, Eddard watched as men of several houses sworn to the Eyrie came in the solar. Houses Royce and Belmore, Corbray, Waynwood, and other minor houses. He even recognized the curious sigil of House Lynderly of Snakewood with its wriggling green snakes on a black field. _Why are they all here? It can't be some news from my father: Arryn would have told me in privacy._ And he suddenly felt relieved.

"Where is Grafton? And Sunderland?" Arryn snarled.

He seemed offended and the men standing in front of him, weathered or young, looked at each other hesitantly. One stepped forward and finally said he didn't know. Arryn stared angrily at all the men – including Eddard – then he walked to the hearth. The fireplace wasn't used for some weeks now that the sun warmed the Vale; he nonetheless took the firebrand with a sigh and moved the cold ashes.

Another knock made Arryn spin on his heels. The door creaked open and Robert came in unfazed. When they saw his rather disheveled look, the bannermen probably thought he had run through the corridors. As Robert sunk into one of the remaining armchairs, Eddard gripped the sides of his seat until his knuckles went white. His back to the hearth, Arryn cleared his throat and looked at the assembly.

"This morning, a raven from the capital came to the Eyrie. King Aerys killed the men who sought revenge for Lyanna Stark's abduction. All of them. Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon are dead."

At first, he didn't realize what Arryn said; stunned, the lords started whispering and Robert banged his fist on the table. Ned felt lost: he tried to lock eyes with Arryn, but the Lord of the Eyrie ignored him and went to the large mullion windows. When Ned turned around to face Arryn's vassals, their intrusive look made him cringe; they waited for his reaction and Robert tilted his head, urging him to stand up and to shout something.

_What? What do you want me to do? This was not supposed to happen this way._ He knew danger awaited his father and brother in King's Landing, but never had he imagined he would learn they were dead in a room crowded with strangers; never had he imagined people would expect him to react to the news. In their prying eyes, he could see they expected him to seek revenge and to state it loud and clear. _Some anger-induced tirade, that's what you all want._ He swept the room hoping his eyes fell on a face showing sympathy; the men sitting around the long table exuded anger or determination, but none of them seemed to share his sorrow even less commiserate with him. T he acidity of bile hit the back of his throat: he got on his feet and left the solar, hurrying in the barely lit corridors, as Arryn yelled after him.

He didn't even know where he was going to; he only wanted to be alone with his grief, sitting in a corner where he could realize he would never see his father and Brandon again. A crowded solar was no place to grieve. He ran down the stairs and made his way to the gardens. Outside the castle, on the terrace overlooking the Vale, he would find solace in the godswood, even if the Eyrie didn't have a heart tree. That was where he would have gone, if he was in Winterfell. He sat near the biggest tree, shut his eyes and tried to remember Winterfell's godswood, its weirwood with blood-red leaves, its pool...

_They're gone. Father is gone. Brandon died._ He recalled his brother, tall, handsome, exuding confidence and drawing the girls' attention. Sometimes, he thought Brandon was cocky, while his elder brother used to call him fainthearted. _And Father..._ Ned's father was stern and reserved. He didn't speak unless it was necessary, a trait of character he had inherited. He couldn't believe they were dead. _Because of the Tourney. Because of what we did. We are responsible. I am responsible._

He roused himself from his reverie when he felt a large hand on his shoulder. Robert was squatting in front of him, brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, squeezing Eddard's upper arm. "My lord."

"What did you call me?" It sounded ridiculous, like a poor jest.

"My lord," Robert insisted. " _You_ are the lord of Winterfell, now that your father and brother are dead."

Eddard's heart beat wildly. He began to understand he would never see Brandon and Father again, but that...

"Lord Eddard Stark," Robert trailed, as if he saw fit to repeat his friend's new title. _Lord,_ Ned mentally told himself. _Loord_. There was something daunting in the way the 'O' tended to drag on. This new title should have made him proud but beyond the dramatic circumstances, he only foresaw danger and worry. _Winterfell. The castle, the winter town, the fields, the forests..._ _The people of the North..._ _The bannermen..._ He suddenly felt dizzy, then his shoulders sagged as if they carried the weight of the world.

"No, no," he told Robert, shaking his head. "It was not supposed to happen this way."

"Ned, you can't indulge yourself in grief. You don't have time!" Robert replied.

Grabbing Eddard's upper arms, he helped him get on his feet, then cupped his chin.

"The scroll Arryn received from King's Landing was about your father and your brother's execution, but there was more. This prick smallfolk called our king demanded our heads. Mine and yours. It seems that murdering two members of House Stark and a bunch of noble men didn't quench his thirst for blood. Aerys demands your head because you're the new Stark of Winterfell and mine, because I'm betrothed to Lyanna. The message doesn't say if Arryn should hand us over to the king or if he has to behead us before sending our heads in some basket, though."

Robert didn't lose his taste for jokes, despite the circumstances.

"What will Arryn decide?" Eddard asked hesitantly.

Towering above him, Robert roared with laughter.

"The Mad King – from now on, I'll always call him _this_ – killed Elbert, Arryn's only heir. He can't sit in a corner and wait until the royal army comes here! He'll raise his banners. That's why he summoned his vassals. I think he wrote to some of them a few days ago, when he received a raven from your lord father."

Bewildered, Eddard tried to give sense to Robert's words.

"We'll soon head south, Ned. We'll seek revenge for Lyanna, for your father and brother, for Elbert and the other ones. We'll kill the Targaryen rapist. But first, I'll go to the Stormlands and call my bannermen. And so will you, once you're in the North."

In the solar, the noble men were shouting; Ned raised his head to see the mullion windows that looked like two dark eyes in the white stone façade. Noticing his puzzled face, Robert gave him a pat on the back.

"Their oath of allegiance to Arryn," he explained. "Our first war... You and me, fighting the royal army..."

For a heartbeat, Robert seemed to forget Eddard was mourning and dead worried about his sister. He looked at his friend's glimmering eyes as he spoke and the sparkle he saw in it – not scared but rather cheerful – made him feel uncomfortable.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's over, Ned,” Arryn said almost softly.  
> But Eddard didn't understand at first; he was staring at Arryn's face, spattered with blood, despite his helm. When he turned around, he saw Valemen and their squires, their bloodstained jerkins and their red hands. _Is my face spattered with blood, as well?_ He looked at his hands; blood was already drying by places. Suddenly, he felt the urge to touch his cheeks and nose; getting rid of his helm, he run his fingers over his face and realized how sticky was his skin.  
>  “It's over,” Arryn repeated. “Grafton is dead. Robert killed him in single combat.”  
>  _'Single combat'_ sounded like their fight was honorable and knightly; minstrels celebrated single combats in their songs, but wherever he set his eyes, he could only see wounded horses waiting for someone to finish them off, corpses in weird positions and men holding their bowels. _Did we take part in the same fight?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this!  
> This update is mostly about the battle of Gulltown, the first battle of Robert's Rebellion. During these events Robert and Ned could have become closer, but what happened was quite the opposite...

"Grafton is a problem," Arryn whispered, sighing.

After years spent with him at the Eyrie, Eddard knew exactly how to read the Lord of the Vale's expression, and that morning, he understood Arryn was both tired and anxious. On his clean shaved face, wrinkles were deeper and Arryn rubbed his cheeks nervously, suddenly going back to the large wooden table of the solar.

He had unwound the yellowish scroll showing a map of the Vale; decades ago, a maester serving one of his ancestors had drawn an exact picture of the territory ruled by House Arryn, with the mountains, the lakes, the woods and the cities. The maester had not forgotten the sigils of the lords of the Vale. Tiny coats of arms brightened up the map with their vivid colors.

He extended a large hand to the East, showing a peninsula surrounded by the Narrow Sea.

"Gulltown, one of the major harbors of the Vale, siege of House Grafton," Arryn added, gesturing to a red and black sigil adorned with a burning tower.

"I know what Gulltown is," Robert said with a hint of impatience.

"My men reported Randyll Grafton is gathering half of my bannermen. Those who stay loyal to Aerys.”

“Royalists,” Robert spat.

“We have to handle this before even thinking of sending you to the North and in the Stormlands. We need to secure the Vale prior to going South and fighting the royal army. Prior to anything else,” Arryn enunciated.

The man had fostered him for such a long time Ned even knew when he would click heels, a sign of nervousness and exasperation with him. And Arryn did it: he clicked his heels and Eddard thought Arryn foresaw difficulties.

“What do you think, Ned?”

Whenever they had that kind of serious conversation, he remained silent most of the time, looking at the maps, weighing Robert's and Arryn's arguments and only spoke when asked.

“We need to gather the men who back House Arryn and go as fast as we can to Gulltown. Take them unaware if possible. Face them on a battlefield. We should not enter the town: narrow streets, three or four-floor houses... It's not safe.”

Arryn nodded. “I agree with Ned,” he told Robert. “A battle in the harbor is far too risky. Once Gulltown is mine, you'll sail to Storm's End, while he goes to the North. We have to be careful: the smallest error can lead us to death. And I don't want my head rotting on the walls of the Red Keep.”

“You won't have your head rotting on the walls. These days, Mad Aerys prefers to cook his enemies in their armor,” Robert said. “Fire and blood.”

“Shut up!” Arryn commanded. “Lord Rickard would have been your good father!”

Robert shrugged. “Are we done?”

* * *

Promptness was all in their plan; once Arryn had gathered his troops and his loyal bannermen, they headed to the East, riding as fast as they could to Gulltown. With the meager forces they had, they couldn't besiege the harbor – a proper siege required a fleet they didn't have – so they counted on Robert to provoke Randyll Grafton. The lord of Storm's End fulfilled their expectations.

The two parties confronted one another in the damp meadows by Gulltown's walls. As expected by Arryn, the royalists Valemen outnumbered them, but they didn't seem ready to fight when they came out of the gates: the lords who exited the city were happy to meet each other and to feast; they believed their only presence would prevent Robert from sailing to Storm's End. They were reddish after a few nights spent in the harbor where Selhorys pale green wines and Pentoshi ambers arrived on a weekly basis from Essos.

The two groups observed each other silently for a while, then Arryn shouted his house's words and Robert's stallion charged. Afterward, Ned’s memories of the fight faded. In the knee-high grass, spears met horses' chest, men jumped from their saddle, as their mount died, in order to fight on the ground, high-borns and commoners uttered the same gut-wrenching cry before breathing their last breath.

Twenty feet on his left, a royalist knight wearing heavy plate armor fell from his horse and didn't manage to push himself from the ground. All Ned had to do was run to him and aim at the joints where no metallic layer protected the flesh; he chose the place beneath his left arm. _This way, it will be quick._ The knight screamed and Ned began to think this cry would never end, wondering if he had cut the artery, then the man stopped. The quiet meadows where grass rippled in the wind had turned into a nightmare. Before Ned could understand what was going on, his blood-drenched longsword felt heavy in his hands and Jon Arryn was coming to him, panting and looking concerned.

“It's over, Ned,” he said almost softly.

But Eddard didn't understand at first; he was staring at Arryn's face, spattered with blood, despite his helm. When he turned around, he saw Valemen and their squires, their bloodstained jerkins and their red hands. _Is my face spattered with blood, as well?_ He looked at his hands; blood was already drying by places. Suddenly, he felt the urge to touch his cheeks and nose; getting rid of his helm, he run his fingers over his face and realized how sticky was his skin.

“It's over,” Arryn repeated. “Grafton is dead. Robert killed him in single combat.”

 _'Single combat'_ sounded like their fight was honorable and knightly; minstrels celebrated single combats in their songs, but wherever he set his eyes, he could only see wounded horses waiting for someone to finish them off, corpses in weird positions and men holding their bowels. _Did we take part in the same fight?_

“Do you understand me, Ned? We won! Grafton is dead, and so are his lieutenants. Half of the royalists surrendered.”

Arryn expected congratulations or at least a sign showing that he was as relieved as himself, but Eddard couldn't give him what he wanted. All of a sudden, the Lord of the Vale shook his head in bewilderment and turned his heels.

* * *

Since the day they learned Lyanna was missing, Robert supported Eddard, never leaving him alone and trying to comfort him whenever he lost hope. Eddard owed him so much he thought he could never repay his friend. From time to time, he felt guilty, mainly because he didn't tell Robert everything about the Tourney at Harrenhal. Keeping those details secret was more difficult sometimes and that day's butchery had aroused his remorse.

After the fight by the gates of Gulltown, Arryn led his men throughout the city and settled in Randyll Grafton's small castle. There was not enough room for everyone in the castle, but some inhabitants offered to host the Valemen: among them were the Arryns of Gulltown, a cadet branch of House Arryn. Jon Arryn despised them because they chose to wed merchant's daughters and lived in luxury. Their attempt to be back in his good graces irritated him even more so and he expressed his anger about them during the supper while Robert and Eddard tasted Grafton's best wines.

Their ride throughout the Vale and the fight in the meadows had tired them, so Eddard quickly went to Grafton's children's bedroom, which would be his for the night. Once lying on the feather bed, he kept going over and over the last events. _All this is going too fast. I'm not ready for a war in which everyone in the realm will have to take sides. What will happen if my bannermen don't want to follow me in this war? I'm not Brandon. Brandon would have known exactly what to do, what to tell them._

Ned rolled over in bed for an hour before deciding he would talk to Robert. He wanted to tell him all he kept secret since the tourney, no matter how Robert would react. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, got on his feet and put on some clothes.

The corridors of Grafton's castle were silent and barely lit; he made his way to Robert's room and knocked. No one answered. For a few heartbeats, he hesitated and thought of going back to bed, but he knew he could not sleep before easing his conscience. His bare feet were cold on the red tiles of the floor as long as he stayed still, so he decided to explore the castle. Robert would likely be downstairs, paying homage to Grafton's wine cellar.

On the first floor, some of Arryn's men snored in the hall where they had their supper; Ned avoided them and made for the kitchens. All of a sudden, he heard bottles tinkling in the kitchens and smiled: Robert would be there, drunk and happy to find someone who would help him to get back to his room. Since Lyanna's abduction, whenever he was sad, Robert would comfort him and drink for both of them, but in the end, it was Ned who always made sure his friend ended the night in his own bed instead of collapsing in some corner of the Eyrie. Knowing for sure he would find Robert in his cups, he pushed the wooden door and froze.

At the end of the large table where the cooks had forgotten the leftovers of their supper, three green bottles banged together and tinkled at a regular pace; on the other side, a kitchen maid, naked and out of breath, was sat on the edge of the table, Robert between her legs. His breeches on his ankles, panting and cursing in the girl's neck, Robert was not aware of his presence, but she was. In the dim light provided by the hearth on his right, he saw her turning her head and granting him with an impish smile.

 _“Robert will never keep one bed,”_ Lyanna had told him once. He had taken Robert's side, swearing love would turn his friend into a different person. _It was at the beginning of the Tourney. It was a thousand years ago._

His sister's clear-sightedness almost hurt him at that instant and he came in, then slammed the door, at the risk of awakening the entire castle. Suddenly frightened, the girl hung onto Robert's shoulder and he turned his head in astonishment. As Ned walked toward them, he caught a glimpse of her: light brown hair, turned-up nose and small breasts. Taking his cold stare as a tribute to her beauty, she mocked him.

“Is the little lord angry because he wanted me to warm his bed?”

“Get out!” Eddard shouted, and he threw a dirty woolen dress to her.

Despite the awkward situation, Robert protested and gesticulated. The girl left the edge of the table and walked on tiptoe to the hearth, not without showing him her rounded ass. While getting dressed, she peered at them. Robert didn't seem to understand why someone had interrupted him; unashamedly, he turned to Eddard and waved his big hands, his breeches still on his ankles.

Ned held himself back as long as he could, but once the girl was gone, he lost his temper.

“How dare you!” he bellowed, not caring about the men sleeping nearby.

“Oh, please!” Robert said. “Don't tell me you never fucked a maid!”

Ned burst into an involuntary fit of nervous laughter.

“You don't understand, Robert. What are we fighting for? Why did those men die today?”

“We want to overthrow the Mad King and kill this Targaryen bastard named Rhaegar. Westeros will never be the same.”

Ned shook his head.

“We don't fight for the same reason, then. Perhaps we don't take part in the same war. I fight because Aerys destroyed my family and because I want my sister back. My sister, Robert. The girl you were betrothed to, the one you were supposed to cherish. And you spend your nights tumbling kitchen maids?”

Anger and sadness overwhelmed him so that he felt dizzy. He didn't know if he wanted to hit Robert or to cry. In the end, sorrow prevailed and he leaned against on the edge of the table.

“We don't even know where Lyanna is or what happened to her,” Robert said, as an excuse.

Ned collapsed on the bench, elbows on his knees, and cradled his pounding head. He heard fabric rustling and understood Robert was finally getting dressed. A few heartbeats later, the green bottles tinkled again and the bench creaked. When he opened his eyes, Robert was sitting beside him, pouring wine in a cup.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What will Winterfell look like without her?_ The granite walls were still there, and the King's gate welcomed them at the end of the King's Road, with its postern and the lonely guard who immediately recognized him. After the drawbridge, he noticed the moat water was as murky as before, passed the high inner walls and dismounted in front of the Great Keep. Benjen was already hurrying himself through the yard, pushing aside the maester and the servants and ignoring the Valemen's disapprobation.  
>  "My brother," Benjen said, fighting back his tears. Forgetting they were not alone, he threw himself in Eddard's arms and clutched him. _That's just the two of us, now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned travels North to gather the Stark bannermen; on his way, he stops in the Neck, where Howland Reed welcomes him...

The companions Jon Arryn had given him hated those swamps and the reed thickets of the Neck; unlike them, Eddard was fascinated by the flat landscape of the bogs, with its green-yellowish tufts of grass, its streams snaking in the plains covered with moss, stretching as far as the eye could see. Arryn had deliberately forgotten to tell his men about crossing the damp treacherous lands of the Neck, if their bad mood and silent reproaches were any indication.

Traveling in that part of Westeros was obviously not child's play, once the riders had left the causeway to find the siege of House Reed: they had to stay together, to be even more vigilant when the ground became soft as a pillow under the hooves of their horses and when the frogs croaked noisily. His own reaction astonished him, but Eddard put up with the dangerous path and shrugged off the sultry weather and the myriad of insects – flies, midges, dragonflies – overrunning the place. Strange to say, the slender reeds bending with the wind soothed his nerves and made him feel more serene. Even the knights' interrogations about how they would find Greywater Watch, a castle only crannogmen could locate, didn't spoil his good mood. When a rider emerged from behind a reed thicket in the late afternoon sun, gawky on his horse, Eddard immediately knew who he was. _Howland. My friend._ Arryn's men didn't believe their eyes as the frail crannogman came closer on his old horse and welcomed them with a warm yet nervous smile.

"Do you see, Ned?" Howland Reed said pulling the reins. "I bought a horse and I'm practicing everyday. I'm getting better."

Though he almost fell from his saddle when trying to dismount, Howland kept his broad grin and embraced Eddard, ignoring the cutting remarks of the Valemen about his nag.

Howland led them to his father's castle built on a floating island and the proud knights of the Vale whispered to each other, discovering the modest dimensions and strange architecture of the keep. Brow furrowed, they learned there were no maester, no master-at-arms, no knights in the biggest castle of the area. Even the scent of peat fires seemed to offend them. After a while, Eddard doubted they ignored those facts about the Neck and thought they only tried to be as nasty as possible. He glared at Ser Dennis Waynwood when he compared the keep with the tiny thatched houses they had seen during their ride.

After supper, Howland and Eddard left the Valemen in the Great Hall of the castle, went to Howland's apartments and almost collapsed in two armchairs smelling of old leather next to the fireplace.

"I can gather all the forces of the Neck," Howland promised his guest. "The Blackmyres, the Fenns, the Crays, the Quaggs... They're men of honor, they will help us. They don't have enough horses, though. Some don't have horses."

"Winterfell will provide mounts," Ned replied, mesmerized by the blue and pale yellow flames coming from peat bricks.

Silently, Howland jumped on his feet and began to stoke the fire. As far as Eddard knew, people used the hearth even in summertime, in damp places like the Neck. When Howland turned and faced him again, his big green eyes had changed and in his triangular face resolution gave way to melancholy.

"I wish I could go back in time and change everything..." he added. "Are there any clues of where she is?"

Eddard shook his head.

"Once you got some rest, Ned, we'll ride to Winterfell". "I'm coming with you."

"You said you would gather your bannermen," Eddard retorted.

"My father doesn't need me here to call them and make sure they're ready. You need my company more than he does. Unless... you prefer to ride alone with those buttoned-down knights of the Vale."

Eddard laughed heartily, for the first time in days.

"Gods, I can't stand their contemptuous looks anymore!"

"Oh, there is no maester here?" Howland exclaimed, mimicking Waynwood and his companions. "You don't have any master-at-arms? You don't have knights in the Neck? How can you organize tourneys if you don't have knights?"

Howland's simpering voice and scandalized look was such a good imitation of Ser Dennis that Eddard convulsed with laughter. As his host began to ape the Valemen on their horses, back straight and riding haughtily, cantering throughout the room, hilarity elicited a few tears at the corner of Eddard's eyes.

"I'm afraid we don't have tourneys in the Neck, Ser," Howland replied to the imaginary knight. "That's why crannogmen go South to watch people jousting."

Ned's laughter immediately vanished and Howland stopped his imitation of the Valemen. They were both thinking of the same tourney now, the one Lord Whent had organized in Harrenhal some months ago. The memory of their first meeting made Eddard smile thoughtfully for a heartbeat, but his lips soon twisted in a bitter expression.

* * *

Eddard thought he would feel at home as soon as he would catch sight of the massive granite walls and the watch turrets. In the dreams he had night after night, he saw the crenels silhouetted on the cloudy sky and she was there, slender figure waiting for him and waving her arms in anticipation. Lyanna and Winterfell were indivisible; whenever Eddard was in Winterfell, his sister warmed the northern castle with her laughter and exuberant manners. On the few occasions when they met out of Winterfell, she always seemed to bring with her tiny pieces of the castle: not only news of the servants and people living there, but also habits they had, memories they shared, even something in her grey eyes that reminded him of the Northern sky. There was not another member of the Stark family whom he associated so deeply to Winterfell.

 _What will Winterfell look like without her?_ The granite walls were still there, and the King's gate welcomed them at the end of the King's Road, with its postern and the lonely guard who immediately recognized him. After the drawbridge, he noticed the moat water was as murky as before, passed the high inner walls and dismounted in front of the Great Keep. Benjen was already hurrying himself through the yard, pushing aside the maester and the servants and ignoring the Valemen's disapprobation.

"My brother," Benjen said, fighting back his tears. Forgetting they were not alone, he threw himself in Eddard's arms and clutched him. _That's just the two of us, now._ As Howland tentatively jumped from his saddle and stepped forward, however standing at some distance from them, Eddard realized they offered a strange sight to Arryn's men; the Stark siblings, in each other's arms, Benjen sobbing against his elder brother's shoulder and the skinny heir of the Neck sharing their sorrow but observing them with the crannogmen's proverbial restraint.

Eddard always felt clumsy when people expressed their emotions like his younger brother did; he hesitantly patted Benjen's shoulder wondering how he could put an end to this and if he ever should. Lifting his gaze to watch the servants, he met Maester Luwin's eyes. The small man clad in a grey woolen robe smiled sadly and came closer, giving Ned a good reason to speak to him.

"Maester Luwin," he said, "I am sure you and the servants did your best to help my brother these last weeks and I am very grateful for that. Could you make sure our guests have all they need for the night?"

"Of course, my lord," Maester Luwin replied.

Luwin was right to address him this way, but the words were still unfamiliar to Eddard and he looked away. On the eaves of the Great Keep, a raven cawed, disturbing the heavy silent in the yard. For a heartbeat, Eddard imagined the scene through the bird's eyes, as if he was on the roof of the ancient tower: the company of men arriving after their long trip, looking like dots in the muddy yard of the castle, and among them, a young man, inexperienced and insecure, who was the new lord of Winterfell. He pictured all this and felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Servants were already taking care of the knights and the yard slowly emptied out, leaving only Maester Luwin, Howland and his brother with him. As Benjen wiped his tears, Eddard understood they all waited for him to speak.

"You'll go to the solar with us," he informed Luwin. "We have matters to discuss, I suppose."

"I took the liberty of having your lord father's apartments ready for your arrival, my lord."

The maester's reply sent chills down his spine and his back stiffened. _I need to get used to it._

* * *

Once Luwin gave him an overview of the situation in the North and told him the Stark bannermen would fight for their cause, he let the maester go and stayed with Howland and Benjen. For the first time since his arrival, he could have a good look at his brother; the last months had been rough on him. Benjen never was a robust fellow and now he looked nothing but skin and bones. His blue eyes glistened with a mix of grief and guilt, as he hid his long face behind dark hair. An uncomfortable silence filled the room and Eddard felt the urge to speak, without finding the proper words. While he rued his inability to reassure his brother, the latter finally cleared his throat.

"I'm so sorry," Benjen said on the verge of tears. "I was always with her, I should have known, I should have done something."

"Blaming yourself won't bring her back," Eddard answered steadily.

His cold tone almost hurt him. _He's my brother, I love him, I should be able to give him the comfort he needs so desperately instead of.._.

"I made a decision a few days ago," Benjen said, pointing a skinny finger at him. "What I did led to her abduction, her abduction led to Father's death and... to Brandon's death. Three lives wrecked and I'm responsible for this disaster. Criminals have two choices: their lord's justice or the Wall. I'll go to the Wall because the Night's Watch is all I deserve."

A flash of anger and frustration made Eddard jump on his feet.

"You're not going anywhere!" he bellowed. "You're too young, only ten-and-four, and you want to estrange yourself from your family? Your place is here, in this castle, not in some ruined fortress of the Wall. We're at war, Benjen, and while I'm fighting in the South, there shall be a Stark in Winterfell!"

"You don't understand!" Benjen retorted, sneering in disbelief, "you're just like Brandon when Lyanna disappeared. I can't do this anymore. I can't go on and pretend nothing happened because I feel so guilty!"

He stressed on the last words, not caring about the Valemen who could hear him if they were nearby.

"You think it's some game I play in the Great Hall, when people come to seek my advice? I'm only four-and-ten, and if I was in the Night's Watch, there would be brothers taking care of me and teaching me how to fight, how to serve. I would have hundreds of brothers instead of one brother who plans to let me down and go fighting in the South!"

Benjen clenched his fists so hard his knuckles became white and his whole figure was shaking. Eddard realized his own pain had made him forget of his brother's: ashamed, he looked through the window and what he saw – the dark green woods in the distance, behind the inner walls crenelated frame, reminded him of Lyanna, as everything did in Winterfell.

 _Can't you understand it's the only choice I have?_ He turned slowly to his brother and locked eyes with the scrawny boy.

"I'm as responsible as you," he said, "and I want my sister back-"

"What did we do?" Benjen asked, choking on tears and not letting him a chance to finish his sentence.

"Will you stop this?" Howland intervened, pushing himself from his seat and squatting in front of Benjen. "What did you do, exactly? You gave her pieces of armor and you stole your elder brother's weapons for her. And you?" He pointed at Eddard. "You lied for her. You lied to your father and to Brandon because your beloved sister asked you to do so. Because neither of you could refuse her anything."

Howland paused and watched them one after the other.

"And now, there's what I did. I came, and she welcomed me. She took care of me, she introduced me to you. I was a naïve boy, humiliated and ashamed, and she restored my pride. She fought for me. Nobody will ever do for me what she did. I did nothing but I gave her a purpose, and we all know where this purpose led your sister. I am the reason why all this happened. I should be the one who takes the black, by your standards, Benjen. If you think you're the only one who feels guilty, you're sorely mistaken."

With a sigh, Howland stood straight and kept his eyes on Benjen's shaking form.

"That's why we're going to do what is right. We're going South to find her. And I am personally seeking revenge for the death of my liege lord and his son, because it's loyalty. Eddard's not only your brother, now. He's your lord. As your lord and your brother, he commands you to stay here and be the Stark in Winterfell, until he returns. You will do so, because you're a loyal young man."

His tone surprised both Starks who were not used to such a resolution in the crannogman.

"And if you desperately want to take an oath, we can go to the godswood," Howland added. "We'll swear to do whatever it takes to find Lyanna and to play our part as we just decided. We'll swear not to talk about the Tourney with anyone else because the Knight of the Laughing Tree is a truth who could swallow us like it already swallowed your father and brother."

When Howland left the solar, striding in the corridor with an unusual self-confidence, Eddard and Benjen followed him to the godswood. By the cold pool, under the weirwood's red foliage, they stood and took their oath repeating the words Howland had said. In the end, Eddard's look lingered on the face carved in the bark: the eyes seemed ready to shed tears and the corners of the mouth were pulled downwards, in a sad grimace.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Want to know how he celebrated his damn victory in Summerhall?" Eddard's sarcastic tone clearly worried Howland, who didn't understand how he knew details about the night following Robert's success, when they were leagues away from his host.  
> "Drinking?" Howland shyly suggested.  
> His friend's temperance surprised and amused the Manderlys and the Karstarks but it was one of the things Eddard appreciated about him.  
> "Whoring," he told a dumb-founded Howland. "That's all he knows. He has the same taste for whores than Manderly for sausages and patés. He claims his love for Lyanna, he plays the part of the grief-stricken man but the truth is, a rutting boar would show more sensibility."  
> He left Howland without ever looking back, walked briskly to his tent and met Wyman Manderly on his way. The stout lord of White Harbor furrowed his brow, afraid to hear Robert faced difficulties in the Stormlands.  
> "How bad is the news?" he asked Eddard, stopping him mid-stride.  
> "Robert won in Summerhall and routed the royal army. Cafferen and Grandison changed sides."  
> "What's wrong, then?"  
> "Nothing," Eddard spat. "Absolutely nothing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting! The comments I received so far really boosted me :)

Once the Stark host was ready – the Umbers, Kastarks and other Bannermen leading their archers and foot soldiers; the Crannogmen provided with decent mounts – the knights of the Vale asked if they could take their leave and Eddard agreed immediately. Neither him nor Howland would miss Ser Dennis Waynwood's presence. They headed South, as fast as they could, well aware Robert needed them in the Stormlands. _At least, Arryn's host can link up with Robert faster than I can. I hope we won't arrive when everything is already done. I hope we won't arrive too late._

He kept in touch with Arryn and Robert by the means of ravens regularly sent to each other. With each crow flying in the sky, more impatience and worry came; when he didn't see any crow in two days, anxiousness overwhelmed him and he feared Robert's death. Robert wouldn't surrender, Eddard knew it: his friend's persistence in fights always surprised him. As a young man, Robert usually was considered changeable and not consistent.

When Wyman Manderly entered his heavy canvass tent and brought him another scroll with a stag on his seal, Ned opened it eagerly, read the few lines and stormed out. The message didn't make sense and he needed Howland to confirm it; he found him with a group of Crannogmen and Northerners from the mountains.

As soon as he saw his furious expression and the crumpled scroll in his hands, Howland left his friends and followed him to the edge of the woods where they had settled their camp.

"Read it," Eddard said, more stiffly than he intended.

Howland cleared his throat.

"We fought thrice in a day near Summerhall and it ended up as another tragedy for the Targaryens. Lord Fell, who led the royalists, is dead and we routed their army. I'll soon head towards the capital and overthrow the Mad King. There is more: Cafferen and Grandison, who commanded the Targaryen army, asked my forgiveness and now fight for me..."

The Crannogman's tone revealed his surprise and disbelief.

"Tell me, Howland, what do you think?" he asked, pacing back and forth.

Howland hesitated, still holding the scroll, then grabbed Eddard's wrist.

"Stop it, Ned. Your Bannermen are watching you."

Eddard sighed heavily, trying to exhale the anger and disappointment boiling in his mind since he read Robert's message. _Useless._

"I should calm down, that's what you think? How can I when Robert boasts himself about two lords betraying their king for him and dreams of getting rid of the king to settle another dynasty? I didn't want this. I never asked for this!"

Howland's anxious eyes went from the Bannermen watching them near a fire camp to him and back to the Northerners.

"I doubt he remembers how my father died," Eddard said bitterly. "He's forgotten my sister. Want to know how he celebrated his damn victory in Summerhall?"

His sarcastic tone clearly worried Howland, who didn't understand how he knew details about the night following Robert's success, when they were leagues away from his host.

"Drinking?" Howland shyly suggested.

His friend's temperance surprised and amused the Manderlys and the Karstarks but it was one of the things Eddard appreciated about him. _Because he’s not Robert,_ a little voice said in his head.

"Whoring," he told a dumb-founded Howland. "That's all he knows. He has the same taste for whores than Manderly for sausages and patés. He claims his love for Lyanna, he plays the part of the grief-stricken man but the truth is, a rutting boar would show more sensibility."

He left Howland without ever looking back, walked briskly to his tent and met Wyman Manderly on his way. The stout lord of White Harbor furrowed his brow, afraid to hear Robert faced difficulties in the Stormlands.

"How bad is the news?" he asked Eddard, stopping him mid-stride.

"Robert won in Summerhall and routed the royal army. Cafferen and Grandison changed sides."

"What's wrong, then?"

"Nothing," Eddard spat. "Absolutely nothing."

Manderly looked so astonished a tiny, bitter laugh escaped Ned's lips while he took refuge in his tent. _I'm a fool; that’s what Manderly must think and he's right. I was a fool to let myself be led by Arryn and Robert: it should have been a family vendetta and nothing more. I should have fought Rhaegar myself, even if I couldn't have the upper hand... I should have resisted Lyanna when she asked me to lie, in Harrenhal._ He collapsed on his pallet, thinking of what should have been.

* * *

The cawing had startled him once more; after Robert's raven about Summerhall, he had sent back a cold, curt, emotionless message announcing their progression towards the Riverlands and now he dreaded his answer. _This is nonsense: what can Robert do? I'm bringing my host to him, he won't refuse my help, because I didn't congratulate him._

He pushed himself from the ground and left Rickard Karstark and the Umbers who were telling stories about the War of Conquest to the youngest members of the Northern host around a crackling fire. As he stepped away from the circle of men warming themselves by the flames and entered the dark tunnel formed by two rows of tents leading to the next camp fire, he felt his chest constricting. The boy who was in charge of the ravens almost ran into Ned.

"Lord Stark, another message for you!" he exclaimed. "From Lord Arryn."

Somehow, the prospect of reading news from Arryn relieved him; he took the scroll, asked for a lantern and read it. In front of him, the boy waited for his reaction, as if taking care of the ravens allowed him to know the content of Arryn's correspondence. Eddard didn't show anything this time and got back to the fire where he had left the Umbers and Lord Karstark. They went silent when they saw his serious expression.

"I need a member of each house in my tent. As soon as possible."

When the last men came in, Eddard's tent was crowded with the Northern lords and chiefs of the Mountain clans. Some of them couldn't advise him, but he found something comforting in their presence. Howland dodged in and out of the group until he found a spot close to him. Rickard Karstark shushed everyone.

"Lord Jon Arryn sent me a raven containing both good and bad news. Robert met the royal army in Ashford; the battle remained indecisive though. He's going North, to link up with the Vale host. But there is more. Aerys dismissed Lord Merryweather and chose another Hand to get rid of us. Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost. That's why I need you. I need to learn more about this man before we meet his forces."

Howland sadly shook his head. _Of course, you don't know Connington. We barely saw him in Harrenhal._

"Connington is pretty young," Manderly commented. "The youngest Hand since... Tywin Lannister, maybe."

_That's it. Aerys new move; a young man yet an experienced soldier to face Robert._

"I don't know him very well," Lord Umber rasped, "because the man is rather secretive. That said, he's very loyal. A change after the two turncloaks who decided to fight for Robert. Very close from Prince Rhaegar, as well."

Rickard Karstark cleared his throat noisily and everyone turned to him, even the men of the Mountain clans who had remained motionless until this point.

"Connington's promotion is a warning for us. It's like Mad Aerys was acknowledging our rebellion is a real, big threat for him. He's back in the game and he sends us someone who's just as skilled as Robert."

"Connington is dangerous," Umber approved. "And Aerys still saves his best asset."

"Who is?" Karstark asked.

"Prince Rhaegar. If the prince and Connington fight together against Robert, this rebellion will come to an end before we reach the Riverlands."

The men went silent, imagining a possible confrontation between Robert and his worst enemy. _Robert needs me. No matter what he did and what I now think about him, he needs me._

"Get ready to leave at daybreak," Eddard said. "Forced march until we link up with Arryn and Robert."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her elder sister was completely different and all the characteristics that were only promises in Lysa – the thick auburn hair, the blue eyes and the tall figure – reached their perfection in Catelyn. She had done her hair simply and she didn't wear a sophisticated dress but its dark green color enhanced her ivory complexion and her braids revealed a gracious neck. _She would have been perfect for Brandon_ , he realized with bitterness. _And instead of Brandon, she'll have the second son. The second choice._

_Did Brandon love this place?_ It was he could think about, when he arrived in Riverrun, and saw the noble siege of House Tully, the rivers, the glorious landscape. Eddard remembered his brother came there once to meet his future bride, Lady Catelyn, after his father had arranged an alliance between the family ruling the Riverlands and the one commanding the North. _A magnificent wedding; everybody said they perfectly matched each other._

The next Stark visiting Riverrun brought news about battles rather than weddings; Lord Hoster Tully's host was necessary to win the war, if Robert managed to escape the trap where he was, according to the last raven one of his men sent them.

_"Lord Robert is wounded and stuck in Stoney Sept: we need your help to besiege Lord Connington's forces..."_

That was why, after another meeting with Karstark, Manderly, Umber and Howland, they had all persuaded him to let them march South while he negotiated with Lord Hoster Tully; Arryn had been sending messages to the lord of Riverrun for weeks, now, but someone needed to put an end to the discussion and make sure he would give them reinforcements. Ned had protested, telling them he didn't want people to take him for a coward, because he wasn't on the battlefield.

"You think it's easy to negotiate with someone like Hoster Tully?" Manderly had asked, laughing at his own remark.

"Lord Arryn led the negotiation, he knows how to negotiate with him," Ned had retorted. "I don't. What can I offer him?"

At that point of their discussion, Umber had turned to Manderly and they had exchanged a sly look before laughing again.

"No offense, Ned, but you're such a fool sometimes," Umber had sighed. "You're a boy. And Lord Hoster has two daughters."

That said, Umber had burst out laughing, and had patted his shoulder, while Eddard had blushed like a maiden.

And now that he was in the Great Hall of Riverrun with a dozen Northerners escorting him, he felt clumsy and stupid. _Because the Tully girls saw Brandon and I'm going to disappoint them. Because now I understand why Benjen doesn't want to grow up and prefers to run away and take the black._ He heard a rustle of skirts coming from the closest room. _I don't want to grow up._ No girl showed up, though; instead of the beautiful lady he imagined looking down on him, he only saw Lord Hoster Tully at the end of the Great Hall, nodding courteously and walking towards him.

After the usual exchange of civilities, the lord of Riverrun led him to his solar, where the view over the valley was intoxicating. The glistening meanders of the river contrasted with the dense woods nearby; different shades of green, from a dark emerald to a light yellow green color, proved how rich were the forests of the Riverlands. _I couldn't work in this room_ , he mused, _I'll spend my time watching through the windows._ In comparison with the landscape, the furniture seemed almost poor.

Lord Hoster gestured and he took a seat, while his host sat at the other end of the long table, and the bargain began.

* * *

Eddard was not used to this; nothing, in the education he had received had prepared him to discuss over offers and to lead the negotiator where he wanted. _It could be worse; Lord Hoster could have told me to go away but he didn't._ Instead of telling him he didn't give a damn about the rebellion, Lord Hoster talked about numbers.

"Five hundred horsemen. And five hundreds archers, that's all I can do," he told Eddard, toying with a quill.

"We need more, my lord. As I already explained, we shall not underestimate Lord Connington. What about Lord Frey? I'm sure he has troops."

Hoster Tully rolled his eyes and Ned immediately understood he was not pretending.

"Trust me, young man, with a bannerman like Lord Walder, you don't need enemies. I can't tell you I'll bring more horsemen because this damn Frey will drag his old feet and play for time. If you had such bannermen in the North, you would understand my point."

He paused and gave Ned a long, thoughtful look.

"Let's say six hundred horsemen, five hundred archers and three hundred foot soldiers, on top of that. You'll have more if the lazy Lord Frey answers on time. Do we agree on this?"

Eddard nodded in acquiescence.

"Now let's talk about what you have to offer," the man said, sending shivers down Ned's spine. "You need a wife. You'll marry Lady Catelyn. What? My eldest daughter is not beautiful enough for you?"

He shook his head vehemently.

"Of course, she is, my lord. I'm afraid you mistook my reaction. Lady Catelyn was betrothed to my brother Brandon and we're... quite different. I hope she won't be disappointed by me."

Lord Hoster looked away with a hint of exasperation.

"My daughter will do as I say. Besides, I'm glad she didn't marry your brother. Brandon was brave and skilled, but he was a fool. I don't mean to insult your brother's memory; read it like the opinion of a man concerned by his daughter's future."

He remained silent for a while and Eddard didn't know if he should be relieved because Lord Hoster seemed to agree on him marrying Lady Catelyn or if he should just felt more pressure because the lord of Riverrun was so protective towards his daughter.

"What about Lord Jon Arryn?" Lord Hoster abruptly asked, taking him unawares. "He lost his heir the same day your brother died. If I could send more troops – forcing Frey to respect his commitments – do you think Lord Arryn could consider the prospect of a wedding?"

Ned was not inclined to laugh for any reason, but he found it hard to repress a smile. The idea of the man who had fostered him for years, who was older than his father or the man sat across him, walking down the aisle and wrapping his cloak around the shoulders of a young girl, was incongruous.

"Do you mean a wedding with your younger daughter, my lord?" Eddard asked shyly.

"I won't give him my Edmure, obviously!" Lord Hoster bellowed, annoyed by his reaction. "Lysa is a bit younger than Catelyn, but Jon Arryn shouldn't waste time if he wants a heir, in my humble opinion."

"I need to send him a raven," Eddard said, ill-at-ease.

"Be quick, then. As far as I know, your friend Robert Baratheon needs us. My men are almost ready, so we'll leave at dawn."

Negotiating a wedding for the man who had fostered him exceeded his mission and he feared Arryn's answer. He nevertheless wrote to him, explaining the Tully sisters weddings would give them Lord Hoster's full cooperation. Before the end of the day, a raven brought him a message from Arryn and Eddard immediately informed his host his younger daughter would rule the Vale with her husband.

* * *

He thought the negotiation with Lord Hoster would be the most awkward moment of his stay in Riverrun: he was wide of the mark. His host insisted on introducing his daughters to him during the supper and he felt clumsy and stupid.

Lysa Tully, who was of an age with Benjen, seemed dull and Ned wondered about her pale skin; she looked like a girl who had been sick for a long time and had just recovered. _What a strange consort she will make for Arryn! She's so young. Lord Hoster could have waited one year or two before marrying her._ Fascinated by the content of the dishes, she barely gazed at him.

Her elder sister was completely different and all the characteristics that were only promises in Lysa – the thick auburn hair, the blue eyes and the tall figure – reached their perfection in Catelyn. She had done her hair simply and she didn't wear a sophisticated dress but its dark green color enhanced her ivory complexion and her braids revealed a gracious neck. _She would have been perfect for Brandon_ , he realized with bitterness. _And instead of Brandon, she'll have the second son. The second choice._

After the supper, Lord Hoster said he could talk with his future bride, provided that Septa Selene stayed with them. Septa Selene, a tall and broad-shouldered woman whose face was deeply wrinkled, sat on her favorite armchair by the fireplace, took her needlework and seemed to forget about them.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Catelyn said graciously, though her tone sounded a bit cold.

He thanked her, then remembered she had lost the man she was about to marry.

"I'm sorry for your loss as well," he added, awkward and slightly impressed by her. She was almost as tall as him.

"I barely knew your brother," she answered and she led him to the windows.

Under the moonlight, the river still glistened and he wondered if she could ever learn to love Winterfell and its wild landscape, after growing up in the part of the Seven Kingdoms people compared to a garden. Once more intoxicated by the view, he felt like he couldn't talk and when he became aware it disturbed her, it was almost too late to break the silence. She expected a question, a jape, anything. Ned cleared his throat and suddenly remembered an anecdote Brandon had told him about his own stay in Riverrun.

"My brother told me he had to fight for you with this boy your father fostered."

The blue eyes widened and he read a mix of surprise and disappointment on her handsome face.

"Petyr? Oh, don't take him too seriously, he's just a boy. Your brother wanted to give him a lesson and he wished to impress me, I suppose. He shouldn't have fought with Petyr."

She shook her head in disapproval of Brandon's foolishness, then looked at him straight in the eye.

"You won't have to fight for me, since Petyr left," she added.

_You mean your father sent away the troublesome boy who could ruin his plans._ She stayed silent and her proud demeanor didn't encourage Ned to talk; after a while, she turned to her septa, said she felt tired and left him with the tenacious feeling he had spoiled their first meeting.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the festivities, she had played her part with gentleness and dignity, searching his gaze, answering with grace to every question, sometimes looking at her sister with a hint of concern: exactly what he expected from her. _But I'm far from fulfilling her expectations._ He had been distant with Catelyn and he had read in her eyes his coldness saddened her.  
>  Once alone in their bedroom, she had been disappointed by his absent-minded behavior, by his lack of tenderness, yet she didn't complain nor forget her good manners. The realization that he couldn't give her more affection, that he was so terribly clumsy with her infuriated him. _She doesn't deserve this. She's beautiful and sweet and I should take care of her instead of acting like a northern brute._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story and for commenting!

A couple of feet on Ned’s left, Jon Arryn had a solemn face, that day, in Riverrun's sept. Standing between the altars of the Mother and the Father, each one of them waited for his bride-to-be and Eddard couldn't decide who was more nervous. _Arryn got married twice, aye, but he clicked heels. Several times._ Clicking heels was typical of Arryn when he was ill-at-ease and there was something about the hard-faced man that suggested he lacked assertiveness.

Suddenly, Lord Hoster Tully appeared, giving both arms to his daughters and Ned's heart skipped a beat. As they slowly walked down the aisle, he sensed how Arryn's back was tense and almost forgot about the butterflies in his stomach. He glanced at the assembly and saw Howland's familiar features, both serious and comforting; some of the Northerners had accompanied him, but among them, Howland was his only true friend.

Robert was still in the South. _It's better like that I suppose._ The desperate situation in Stoney Sept – Robert wounded and hidden in besieged town – had turned into a victory for the rebels and Eddard reckoned he had done his part. Robert's attitude had nevertheless incensed him when he boasted about the details of his stay in Stoney Sept and the battle between his men and the royalists. Listening to Robert jesting about the whores who had hidden him during the last night or mocking Jon Connington's look when he had seen Robert standing on the stairs leading to the sept annoyed him. After all, Connington had fought bravely when he could have burned down the city and slaughtered the inhabitants. The leader of the Targaryen army was their enemy but everything about him commanded respect; did people say the same about the lord of Storm’s End? Ned had even admitted in front of Howland that he was ashamed when people associated his name to Robert's.

Ned and Robert had argued, just after the battle of Stoney Sept, about Cafferen and Grandison, about the battle of Stoney Sept and how Robert intended to use his victory, about what the next goal might be. _We argued about everything, yet I was not able to tell Robert that what I can't forgive is his attitude towards my sister._ Robert still invoked his love for Lyanna but kept on whoring openly. It became more and more obvious that their long-lasting friendship, which had begun the day they had met at the Eyrie – they were both homesick orphans, though Eddard still had his father at that time – wore away, like rocks on a wind-battered coast. However, what took ages on the shores of the Narrow Sea had been very quick in their case: one single remark uttered by a disillusioned Lyanna had created the first breach and their differences, which for years seemed to be a strong bond, had done the rest.

The septon's throat clearing brought him out of his thoughts; Catelyn Tully was standing beside him, more gracious and impressive than ever.

* * *

In one swift movement, he pushed aside the furs, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at the empty fireplace. Fireplaces were no more used in Riverrun, now that the sun was warmer, however, at night, one could catch a cold. Eddard didn't really care and sat there undressed, repressing a yawn. His eyes gradually adjusted themselves to the darkness and when he glanced over his shoulder, he discerned his bride's lying form under the furs. Catelyn's eyes were closed and she was alone in the sanctuary sleep provided her, far from her husband's failures and torments. Somehow, Ned envied her her serenity and the way she always carried herself with self-confidence.

During the festivities, she had played her part with gentleness and dignity, searching his gaze, answering with grace to every question, sometimes looking at her sister with a hint of concern: exactly what he expected from her. _But I'm far from fulfilling her expectations._ He had been distant with Catelyn and he had read in her eyes his coldness saddened her.

Once alone in their bedroom, she had been disappointed by his absent-minded behavior, by his lack of tenderness, yet she didn't complain nor forget her good manners. The realization that he couldn't give her more affection, that he was so terribly clumsy with her infuriated him. _She doesn't deserve this. She's beautiful and sweet and I should take care of her instead of acting like a northern brute._

He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered how he had avoided her gaze as he undressed her, earlier that night. Her skin was silky under the pad of his fingers and he had let his eyes linger on her delicate collarbone and full breasts, barely making eye contact with her when she probably expected words of love.

If she loathed his attitude, she had kept her mouth shut and she had laid down on the mattress, only shivering when he had settled himself between her legs. _Did it hurt?_ He recalled how she had held him tightly, burying her face in his neck, letting go of him only after she had become his. Now she rested on her side, wrapped in furs, sleeping soundly. He exhaled a deep sigh.

His thoughts drifted to the war stirring the realm. _What will happen if we fail? I'll probably lose my head and Winterfell will be given to some royalist Southerner. And what about her?_ He glanced at Catelyn again, who shifted slightly in her sleep. Ned shook his head to reject the worst eventuality. _Hoster Tully is no fool; he wouldn't have given both his daughters to rebel lords if he wasn't sure we are going to win this war. But what will happen then?_

Robert had already claimed the Iron Throne for himself should the rebellion triumph. It was a stumbling block between them and at the same time, Eddard felt relieved no one thought of him to rule the Seven Kingdoms. At some point, he had suggested Viserys, King Aerys younger son, could sit on the throne, provided that someone else – Jon Arryn, for instance – ruled in his name. Robert had laughed at the thought and Eddard had finally understood he meant to destroy the Targaryen family. The prospect frightened him; he foresaw the hostility of the smallfolk and he didn't know how he would react if they were all banned.

_This is crazy_ , he thought, cradling his head in his hands. _Why am I doing all this, marrying a girl someone else chose for me, fighting people I don't even know, taking responsibilities in a war of which conduct I disapprove? I'm so obsessed with this war I can't even talk or behave properly with my wife. Why?_ All of a sudden, the answer emerged in the form of a young girl with a pale skin and long dark hair. _Lyanna. She's the reason why I did what I did, even if I have doubts, even if Robert strings bad decisions together._ His heart in his throat, he remembered how he loved to talk to his sister, how good he felt whenever they met. _Where are you, now? Where does Rhaegar keep you?_

Ned heard Catelyn sigh behind him and the heap of furs on his left moved slightly as she sat up.

"What's wrong, husband?"

Her voice exuded gentleness and when he felt her fingers timidly brushing his upper arm, he realized how concerned she was. All this affected her, as well, and he shouldn't forget it. Her father had decided who she would marry overnight, then events tumbled out: the alliance between House Tully and the rebels, the wedding, their first night together and when dawn would come, his leaving. This war had turned her life upside down and she accepted the changes with a bravery one could only praise.

Eddard turned slowly to face her and what he saw, thanks to the moon rays escaping the heavy curtains, would have delighted him in other circumstances: she was sat, holding a pelt with both hands to cover her breasts, her long hair partly concealing her slender shoulders, and she lifted a timid gaze toward him. _Do I deserve her affection?_

"How do you feel, now?" he asked her tentatively, as if wedding night was some illness.

"Fine," she answered softly. "I just wonder what's in my husband's mind and prevents him from sleeping. Did I do something wrong?"

One of her hand let go of the fur and he felt her cool fingertips running over his arm; there was such a tenderness in her gesture he decided to be honest with her. He shook his head.

"You didn't do anything wrong, my lady. I was thinking of my sister Lyanna, that's all."

Thoughtful, she avoided his gaze for a few heartbeats, then she locked eyes with him again.

"You always think of your sister, don't you?" she whispered.

Ned nodded instantly. _She's a quick learner. We barely know each other but she understands everything._

"I know you love your sister and you want her back... All your efforts to find her impress me. However... Eddard, can I ask you something?"

Her voice suddenly revealed a hint of anxiety as her fingers stopped running down his arm and froze on his wrist. Ned took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

"I realize how you care for your sister and I wonder... is there some place for me in your heart?"

It was not a rhetorical question only meant to prompt a love declaration; she didn't expect him to protest he worshiped her. Her interrogation sounded genuine, and only showed her doubts about their relationship. He stared at her and saw his own reflection in her eyes: a man caught in a war he didn't approve, so worried and grief-stricken he couldn't return his young wife's endearment.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should be proud, Ned. I thought Bolton was some cold-blooded animal, but you pissed him off in a way he almost showed his emotions."  
> Ned cackled again. _Let's do this. Let's laugh when he makes a jape. We'll stay friends as long as we content ourselves with mirth, with the mere surface of things. I shouldn't delve into the essential with him, or we would argue instantly._ He left Robert with the persistent feeling he had already lost his friend.

"How many men do we have?" Robert asked, while his squire, a youth who looked like a little boy, compared to the tall and muscular lord of Storm's End, helped him fasten his armor. Apart from the squire, it was just the three of them in the tent: Arryn, Robert and Ned, wondering why he was here.

"More than thirty thousand men, according to my calculations," Arryn answered. "I would say thirty-three thousand men, including the Tully host."

Robert grunted and Ned couldn't tell what elicited that sound – some blunder the squire had made or satisfaction?

"And how many are _they_?"

"It depends," Arryn offered. Ned noticed his baritone voice was a little more faltering than usual. "It depends on how the royalist forces we faced in Stoney Sept reorganized themselves and it depends on the Dornishmen."

"How many?" Robert didn't care about hiding his impatience or showing Arryn the regard he deserved.

"Should the Dornish forces come, we would be outnumbered."

"There's something else." Eddard cleared his throat, deciding what Arryn had told him just before joining Robert couldn't wait anymore. "Peasants spotted Rhaegar on the road to the Trident. He'll command the royal army, most likely."

Robert spun on his heels so abruptly the squire stumbled and fell on his bottom. A wide grin, containing all the resentment and thirst for revenge Robert had stored up since Lyanna's abduction, had spread on his face.

"Best news in days. I'm going to kill this bastard. Really, Ned, you make my day."

Arryn shifted nervously beside Eddard and he thought the Lord of the Vale would say something or try to chide Robert, but he gave up. _We all give up; Robert is wilder everyday and we refuse to see that._

"How was Riverrun? How were the brides?"

A bawdy smile pulled up the corner of his lips.

"Both Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa are charming," Arryn replied. "Ned refused the bedding ceremony on the grounds that he didn't want to break noses on such a day nor scare his young wife."

It sounded like a threat if Robert asked for more details, but the lord of Storm’s End didn't get it.

"So she's lovely, isn't she?" he rasped, laughing. "Does she have big tits?"

_Women are the only thing that distract him from war_ , Eddard mused. _Does it work the other way around?_

"Eager to fight Rhaegar?" he asked back.

Robert's smile vanished immediately and he grunted again.

"Anything else?" Robert said as the squire tentatively brought his mailed gloves. "No? We'll meet outside then."

And that was all: they exited the tent, Arryn gave an endless sigh like he used to do every time Robert misbehaved and he finally turned to Ned.

"And to say I have to find a proper wife for him," he confessed. "I don't know. I really don't know, Ned."

"Can't we just wait the end of this battle to brood over the potential matches? I'm tired of negotiating and plotting."

"Don't be so childish, this is not plotting. Whoever Robert marries, there will be implications and we'd better measure them. Huge consequences."

"If we're able to win over Rhaegar."

Arryn sighed again and his display of annoyance was directed at him.

"We never lost a battle so far. We're blood-tested. We have Robert."

Eddard admitted he was right: their men put their faith in Robert and trusted their commander so deeply their conversations about him sounded like the superstitious chatter of Northern old women. _Mayhap I'm the only one in this host who lost his faith in Robert; his oldest, closest friend, yet the only one who doesn't believe in him._

* * *

Eddard was with the Northern forces, as usual, when he saw Mors Umber losing both his sons. He watched this man, a seasoned warrior belonging to the faithful House Umber, sinking to his knees, hiding tears behind a torrent of insults and swear words. A royalist knight pierced the chest of the eldest boy and several bolts stopped the youngest as he was charging on his garron.

They went on, despite the heat, despite the tiredness that overwhelmed them and made the rattling of steel against plate unbearable. On the riverbanks, there were corpses, dead horses and forgotten weapons everywhere. Then, there were bodies floating on the Green Fork, drifting slowly with the current, cloaks billowing with the water and the gusts of wind, mimicking the sails, turning them into derisory boats.

Rumors spread quicker than he thought on a battlefield; when Ser Lyn Corbray led a charge against the Dornishmen and broke them, they learned the news immediately, even if they were on the opposite side of the rebel host. However, everyone's attention got back to the Trident, precisely to the ford where peasants and tradesmen used to cross with their goods, a place that was part of the battlefield, that day.

"Robert is facing Rhaegar!" one of the Manderlys shouted. "They're fighting in the water."

He had no time to think about it or to worry about Robert, though. Ser Barristan Selmy and a group of men who had survived the Battle of the Bells resisted them fiercely. Ned tightened his grip on the pommel of his swords and parried the blows of the Crownlands knight in front of him before countering. The knight was bathed in sweat and Ned thought he was just as disheveled as him. He nevertheless kept on swinging his sword, waiting for his enemy to get tired, but the knight, whoever he was, didn't give up. They avoided a dead horse, his opponent leaped over a wounded man who feebly asked for help, and their dance went on, regardless of their ragged breath, regardless of Eddard's heart beating wildly.

"Are you the Stark boy?" the knight finally asked him.

"I'm Lord Eddard Stark," he replied, before realizing it was the first time he introduced himself this way.

All of a sudden, Ice felt more real in his hands and his next blow was stronger, making the knight dizzy.

"Son of Lord Rickard Stark." The ancient sword hit the royalist's thigh and the man winced in pain. "Lady Lyanna Stark's brother."

A cry escaped the knight's lips when Ice dug into his abdomen and his longsword hit the ground with a thud. Eddard heard a cracking noise, while they both panted and braced themselves as hard as they could, holding the sword – Eddard's hands on the hilt, the knight's bloodied fingers on the blade – and after a never-ending wait, the man gave up and collapsed on the grass. Ned had to start over to pull off the valyrian steel from his midsection and he finally looked around him, out of breath, wondering how long he could go on like this.

He didn't see any royalist at first – except two dozen who were already dead and laid on the riverbank. The Northerners he was with crowded themselves around a mounted boy who served House Baratheon, then Jon Umber caught a sight of him and called Eddard. He ran to the group.

"Lord Stark!" the mounted youth exclaimed, pulling the reins of his restless horse. He must have shouted and screamed for hours, for his voice was hoarse and croaky. "It's over, m'lord! Robert killed Rhaegar."

Eddard didn't reply and let the Northerners around him rejoice themselves; he was mulling over the man's last words. _Robert killed Rhaegar._ He couldn't realize what it meant and all the consequences. _Robert killed Rhaegar._ His friends voices were muffled, barely audible as if he was underwater; an unusual grin enlightened Rickard Karstark's face while all the Northerners exulted. Jon Umber wiped the mix of blood and sweat covering his forehead; Eddard could read on his curling lips that Umber was saying something but he couldn't guess what. _Rhaegar is dead._ His thoughts went back to the Tourney and to Lyanna. _He can’t hurt Lyanna anymore._ Then a realization dawned upon him. _How are we going to find her, now that he can’t tell us where he kept her?_

* * *

As far as he remembered, he had never really trusted Roose Bolton, though he couldn't say where this wariness come from. Of course, the man had once implied he loved the tradition of the first night and some people reported with a frightened look he demanded that the peasant girls spend their wedding night in his keep of Dreadfort – but some of the Mountain clans kept the same brutish tradition as well. That was the kind of stories Benjen and Lyanna told themselves on long stormy nights, shivering next to a big fireplace. _Is it something about his eyes?_ Eddard couldn't tell, but when Howland confessed him he didn't like Bolton either, his friend's intuition strengthened his opinion on his Bannerman. _At least, I have one good reason to distrust him now._

Ser Barristan Selmy had been severely wounded near the end of the battle and, as he was a well-known member of the Kingsguard, Robert could have commanded to finish him off – Bolton would have volunteered, Eddard was sure about that – or he could have decided to let him die. Bolton had advised Robert to kill Selmy, whereas Eddard had spoken out against that possibility, reminding Robert of the knight's numerous feats of arms.

They were in Robert's tent and Robert was lying on some bedroll his squire had put on the ground. He was wounded, after his single combat with Rhaegar and though he would heal soon, the after-effects of the battle made him look as weak as a child. The maester, a youth hardly escaped from the Citadel, was tending to his wounds, eliciting a few swearwords from time to time; Bolton and Eddard glared at each other and sharpened their arguments. After another plea, Eddard convinced Robert to let Selmy live but it was Robert himself who chose to send him the maester as soon as the man would be done with him. Roose Bolton's cold pale eyes glistened with anger; he swallowed his pride, wished Robert a speedy recovery and left.

"The supercilious Lord of Dreadfort," Robert commented, wincing as he tried to lean on his elbows. He soon gave up, and collapsed on his pallet.

"Don't you think he's pretty cheeky?" Eddard complained, barely containing his anger. "He contradicted me as if I was his peer. I'm not his peer."

Despite his condition, Robert gave a hint of a shrug and repressed a smile.

"I'm sorry but he's your bannerman," he said, pretending to lecture Eddard. "As the Warden of the North, it's your job to make Bolton obey."

Robert's slight frowning was so funny Ned couldn't help chuckle.

"You should be proud, Ned. I thought Bolton was some cold-blooded animal, but you pissed him off in a way he almost showed his emotions."

Ned cackled again. _Let's do this. Let's laugh when he makes a jape. We'll stay friends as long as we content ourselves with mirth, with the mere surface of things. I shouldn't delve into the essential with him, or we would argue instantly._ He left Robert with the persistent feeling he had already lost his friend.

* * *

The smallfolk began to wade in the ford as the body count rose and as maesters hurried themselves on the battlefield, trying to help those who still could be saved. In the meanwhile, the rebels mourned their dead. To Eddard's great astonishment, the story about Robert and Rhaegar's single combat had spread in the countryside and people kept saying Robert's war-hammer had destroyed the Crown Prince's breastplate, sending the rubies adorning his armor in the water. On his way to Robert's tent, Eddard stopped and watched them as they trudged in the muddy water, breeches rolled up to their knees, scrutinizing the river bed but he doubted they could find anything else than human bodies or discarded weapons.

Arryn turned back and called him.

"We shouldn't make him wait, Ned. There is news from King's Landing, I think."

Eddard sighed but Arryn's reproachful tone didn't give him the choice; he followed him with a preoccupied air, wondering what the news could be. A negotiation with King Aerys seemed very unlikely, let alone a surrender. When they entered Robert's tent, he was still on his bedroll, leaning against a heap of furs instead of pillows and a bandage half covered his broad chest. Robert greeted them, told them to sit on the stools displayed by his squire then got straight to the point.

"We can't waste time," he announced. "Rhaegar's death doesn't mean the end of this war; as long as the king's bony ass is sitting on the Iron Throne..."

_What about Lyanna?_

"Anyway, ravens arrived early this morning and here are the news. Rhaella and his son are on their way to Dragonstone. However, Elia of Dorne and her children are still in the Red Keep. Aerys ordered preparations throughout King's Landing."

"What kind of preparations?"

"We don't know," Robert replied, heaving a sigh. "That's my point. We can't stay here any longer. And... I received news from the Westerlands. Tywin Lannister gathered his host and is heading to the capital. No need to say that Aerys begged for his help."

"It couldn't have been worse," Arryn said, getting on his feet and pacing back and forth.

"I heard that Aerys had asked for his help weeks ago," Robert went on, "and this Lannister bastard had turned a deaf ear but... it sounds like he changed his mind. We need to stop them. If Tywin arrives in King's Landing before us, we're fucked up. If the remains of the royal army and the Lannister host can use the preparations Aerys already made, we're fucked up."

Robert ran his fingers through his brown hair and stared at Eddard.

"You're the one in charge, now. This fucking maester says I won't be able to ride before a few days and we can't wait this long. You'll command the host, Ned."

_Command the host. Be in charge._ His head was pounding.

After a while, after the urge of shouting and protesting that he was not qualified for all this stopped tormenting him, he pondered on Robert's decision and realized leading the host had an advantage. _A tremendous advantage, as a matter of fact._ As long as he would be in charge, Eddard would not allow any unnecessary violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the boy shifted from foot to foot, he finally caught a glimpse at the left side of his face and gasped. He had seen this boy in the Great Hall, somewhere behind the lords of the main houses of the Westerlands, but he was on the opposite side of the room at this moment, and the boy's dark hair partly hid his features.  
> The burns were so deep, so extended, Ned didn't even know someone could survive them. From hairline to chin, the boy's left side was a mass of scars; the flesh was black by places and Eddard sucked in deeply when he realized the ear had disappeared, leaving a hole his strands of hair barely concealed. He must have felt Eddard's eyes on him, for he briskly spun on his heels, only showing them the unburnt side of his face.  
> "It's a long way from the Westerlands," Howland went on.  
> "Aye, my lord."  
> "It was your first battle, right?"  
> "It was not a battle. It was a sack," the boy spat. His tone was full of contempt and disgust.  
>  _At least, there is one person in their damn host who acknowledges what happened here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here we are: Ned arrives to King's Landing at the end of the sack and he meets... a squire named Sandor Clegane. You can either read this update on its own or read chapters 9 and 10 of _Two-and-Ten_ : these two chapters show the Sack and its aftermath though Sandor's eyes.  
> Warning for violence, mention of rape, mention of child death. Please proceed with caution.

Long before the host reached the high walls surrounding King's Landing, he noticed the plumes of smoke concealing the roofs, wreathing the towers in their greyish embrace and curling in the clear sky. His men, the brave soldiers who had faced the royal army in Stoney Sept and at the Trident before making this forced march, began to exchange puzzled looks and to whisper. They didn't understand what they saw and, at first, he shook his head in bewilderment, remembering what Robert had said about the 'preparations' King Aerys had ordered throughout the town and the harbor. Were these fires in the largest city of the realm the consequences of the king's lunacy? Only a sick mind could plan the destruction of the capital which would kill thousands of innocent people.

However, as Howland and him scanned the horizon, they remembered the tales about Aerys' fascination for fire, especially for wild fire and Ned realized the dark plumes of smoke were not consistent with what one could expect from the king's precious pyromancers.

When Aerys had chosen Lord Rossart, a member of the Alchemists' Guild, to be his new Hand, a few days earlier, the king had put all his hopes in someone who wouldn't fight like Jon Connington, nor temporize like Owen Merryweather. Rossart had never held a sword before and wasn't famous for his political skills, but he knew more about wild fire than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. _Still, this can't be wild fire._

Wild fire would burn everything and illuminate the sky with uncanny green hues, blinding the Stark forces as well as the inhabitants. Eddard imagined a terrible heat, charred corpses and an infernal landscape that would give a foretaste of the Seven Hells. What he saw from the hills overlooking the capital was frightening yet completely different: the fires were numerous, but they didn't spread in the city. The plumes of smoke were dark, too dark to result from wild fire and the sequence of events disconcerted him, as well: Aerys was mad, but he was smart enough to wait for the rebel forces _before_ setting fire to the city. Destroying his enemies obsessed him and Ned took the king's grudge toward the Northerners seriously. _He wouldn't let us escape, if he ever had a chance to kill us. Unless someone else who chose the traditional way over the occult sciences set fire to King's Landing._

Shifting on his saddle, he turned to Howland Reed and Wyman Manderly.

"Tywin Lannister," he said flatly.

Brow furrowed, the two young lords looked back at him; while Howland slowly regained his impassible expression as soon as he processed Ned's words, Wyman Manderly cursed in astonishment.

"Tywin fucking Lannister? Seven buggering Hells, Eddard... This would be his... work? It doesn't make sense!"

"On the contrary," Howland replied, shivering despite the warm sun, "it makes sense. Do you think someone like Tywin Lannister would choose to die for a lost cause? For a king who rejected his daughter as a possible match for the Crown Prince? Aerys humiliated Tywin Lannister and _this_ , my lords, is his revenge. He's burning the city where his daughter was supposed to marry."

"Burning a city such as King's Landing is crazy," Manderly protested, an incredulous smile on his face.

"Call it retaliation, then. Gods, we're not listening to the _Rains of Castamere_ . We're _watching_ this song."

Releasing the reins for a heartbeat, the Crannogman showed the city with a sweeping gesture, then he set his green eyes on the pillars of smoke darkening the mid-afternoon sky, as a strange expression crept over his triangular face.

"King Aerys will die before sunset," he announced.

Eddard glanced at Wyman Manderly, eager to watch his bannerman's reaction: disbelief lingered on his features and he swallowed hard, but he didn't criticize Howland's prediction, for once. No matter how the other lords rolled their eyes in annoyance, every time Howland foretold an event, he was right.

"We can't waste time, then. Ned, what do you think?"

"We should hurry."

Trying to forget the stiffness he felt in his back because he lacked sleep and couldn't stand his breastplate anymore, Eddard turned to give a look at his men: tired but disciplined, the Northerners, the Tully and Baratheon hosts formed an endless column in the green landscape of the Crownlands, stretching to the horizon. Knights, horsemen from the North, with their mounts, foot soldiers from every part of the realm that questioned the Targaryen king: wherever they came from, their features showed the same resigned weariness. _Where do I lead this army?_ As he didn't have any answer, he let his horse feel his spurs and hurtled down the hill.

* * *

He had been clear when he had given his orders – insistent and even uncompromising with Roose Bolton, in fact – and demanded a behavior beyond reproach. No killing, no looting would be tolerated and he encouraged his men to let know any abuse toward women or children – once more he had stared at the pale Lord of Dreadfort who cleaned his fingernails with his dagger to stave off boredom.

His men had followed his instructions to the letter but Ned couldn't tell if they were obedient soldiers or if the sight of corpses lying on the burning ruins of the capital had upset them as much as it devastated him. By the time they crossed the Gate of the Gods, the Lannister host had caused more damages than any other disaster since Aegon had founded King's Landing. The Seven, whose solemn faces carved in white stone framed the Gate of the Gods, reminded the travelers that the Faith protected the city, but it seemed they had forgotten the inhabitants.

By his side, Howland cringed on his saddle every time they moved past a burnt house or a heap of bodies. _Nothing prepared him to see slaughtered people_ , Eddard mused. Not that he was hardened compared to his friend, but Crannogmen lived a simple life; they fished, they hunted, they sometimes fought against the harsh environment of the Neck, but they didn't fight their fellow-men. Northerners grew up with the terrifying stories of battles against the Wildlings or the creatures beyond the Wall, while the tales the old women of the Neck whispered by the fire were about the encounter between the Children of the Forest and strange animals.

 _We're so different._ He glanced once more at Howland and he could have sworn there were tears in the Crannogman's eyes. _He's so empathetic; when most of the men in this host see the horrors surrounding us, he feels the victims' suffering as if it was his._ And suddenly, Eddard felt ashamed because the violence they witnessed didn't really surprise him.

A squire from the Stormlands caught up with him as they crossed Cobbler Square, an almost cheerful look on his round face. Ned frowned in such a way the squire lost his spirit and lowered his dull blue eyes to the reins of his horse.

"My lord, Lord Robert has been riding to rejoin us and he shall arrive soon," the boy announced with a reedy voice.

He nodded curtly and the squire left him, his puzzled gaze revealing how Eddard's coldness toward such news was disturbing. Hooves resonating louder on the cobblestones warned him someone was behind him and Howland. He turned around just in time to see Rickard Karstark's tight-lipped expression.

"What does it mean, Eddard?" Karstark asked, in his straightforward style. "Did Tywin Lannister decide to claim the Iron Throne for himself?"

"He would have attacked us, in this case. If he let us in the city, he plans an alliance with Robert."

"With us," Karstark corrected.

Ned felt his shoulders sink and he swiveled to face his Northerner friend. Karstark's knowing look washed over him but didn't soothe the anxiety anchoring deeper in his bones as they progressed toward the Red Keep.

"Fuck, I don't like it either," Karstark sighed. "And what these banners on the Red Keep mean?"

* * *

 _What happened to the royal family?_ The question tormented him since Howland had foretold the king's death; when crossing the Gate of the Gods or looking up at the Red Keep, Ned couldn't help wondering what Tywin Lannister would do with the king, his Hand or Rhaegar's wife.

Every time he saw a dead woman lying in the streets leading to the castle, whether she was young or old, fully dressed or almost naked, he thought of the Dornish princess and hoped the Lannisters had simply locked her in some dungeon. Perhaps some Dornish knight had found a way to rescue her; the idea, as comforting as it may be, seemed unrealistic. After all, Elia of Dorne had somehow stolen his daughter's betrothed and Tywin Lannister had no taste for forgiveness.

_Yet, I couldn't imagine he would command this._

At first, he had thought that Rickard Karstark might be right when he had asked if Lord Tywin was not claiming the Iron Throne: the Lannister banners flying over the Red Keep, their crimson fabric darkened by the greyish smoke of the fires, billowing in the wind, made Jon Arryn curse while Ned feared the worst.

After he had found Ser Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard sitting on the Iron Throne, King Aerys' bloodied corpse at his feet, he felt trapped: no matter how strict his orders had been concerning violence and looting, no matter what decision he would take later, his name would forever be associated to the Sack of King's Landing and the murder of the last Targaryens.

Ser Jaime's betrayal and the sight of Aerys lying in the Great Hall while his murderer, a member of the Kingsguard sat on the Iron Throne made the king's death both ironic and humiliating, but what kind of words could express the disgust and the hatred he felt when Robert finally arrived and was given the dead bodies of a little girl and her baby brother as a token of loyalty? Tywin's cunning smile when he glanced at Robert made his stomach churn. Robert looked back at the man who had ordered the slaughter of a woman and her two children, and the relief everyone could read in his eyes hurt Eddard like a stab.

_We were friends. A long time ago, we were friends and you spoiled everything: you didn't deserve Lyanna's affection and you betrayed my trust. Many men won battles for you or died in your name! Now your selfish decisions sullied their reputation and mine._

He stormed out of the Great Hall, not bothered by Jon Arryn's reproachful gaze and sought refuge on a large balcony overlooking the gardens; this peaceful vision contrasted so much with the display of violence in the city and the crimson cloaks saturated by the children's blood it made him cringe. He didn't know for how long he stayed there, alone with his guilt. As he clung to the guardrail and braced himself against it, he heard behind him brisk footsteps and recognized Howland. _Perhaps the only person who understands my reaction._

Ned turned slightly, locked eyes with his friend and gave him a poor smile: take it out on Howland would be the last thing to do. Howland took a few steps further, leaned his elbows on the guardrail but remained silent; there was nothing to say, even for the wise little man born in the Neck.

They contemplated the square flowerbeds, the ocher paths between neat hedges of box-tree, the gurgling marble fountains; all this scenery had been created so that the king could rest after hours spent inside the Red Keep attending ceremonies or ruling the realm, and under the soft, caressing sunbeams of the late afternoon, the gardens of the Red Keep reached their perfection. Yet, the acrid smell of smoke coming from the ashes of the city found its way to their nostrils. _Mayhap the stench was the same the day Father and Brandon died._

"Why are you always right?" Eddard asked Howland, and it sounded like a blame.

The sun was coming down, setting fire to the greenery, turning the yellowish-brown alleys into copper: the intoxicating view abruptly reminded Ned of Howland's prediction.

"About the king's murder?" Howland replied. "I hated King Aerys for what he had done but I wish things were different. He deserved a trial. And a proper execution, but afterward. Besides, Ned, I've made mistakes. I was wrong the day I told you and Benjen the Knight of the Laughing Tree would forever remain a secret."

"What have we done?"

Eddard turned to his friend, trying to regain his composure despite the tears burning his eyelids. As usual, what he saw in Howland's gaze soothed him and gave him the comfort he needed. _You can rely on me_ , the green eyes said.

"We're here for your sister," the Crannogman whispered. "I'll stay by your side until we find Lyanna. Then we'll ride back home: you'll join your brother in Winterfell and I'll go back to the Neck."

Ned could seek solace in the prospect of seeing the high walls of Winterfell again; he nodded vehemently.

"Who are the Lannister men who killed the Dornish princess and her children?" he asked Howland.

Since their ride through the city, an idea had crept in his mind: the Wall needed men and for some of the so-called knights who had killed people and raped women during the Sack, taking the black seemed appropriate. _Perhaps too kind, in fact._ Elia's murderers deserved the black, at the very least.

"They're both Lannister bannermen, knighted not long ago. A... Ser Amory Lorch and a man called Gregor Clegane. You can't miss this one. He's so tall and massive he earned an ominous nickname: the Mountain. It was a slaughter, Ned. Amory Lorch stabbed Rhaegar's daughter so many times no servant can recognize her. And the Mountain..."

Howland stopped talking for a while and Eddard regretted his question.

"He found Princess Elia with her son," Howland went on. "People say he took the baby, smashed his skull against a wall. She watched her son die, Ned, and she couldn't do anything. Then he raped her and killed her, but I don't know how, because I couldn't stomach it. You know, it's weird, because... I've fought battles with you, I've seen what they did to this city, but this... those details... I couldn't stomach it."

As Howland tried to collect himself, Eddard cursed in an undertone. _They'll pay for these murders._ He didn't know yet how to convince Robert, but the crimes would not go unpunished.

All of a sudden, a tall figure leaped out from the corridor leading to the Great Hall and almost ran into Howland before ending up at the opposite corner of the balcony where they stood; bending over the guardrail, the intruder vomited his last meal, then wiped away his mouth with the back of his hand and gave them a sheepish glance.

Now that he was standing up, Eddard could notice the boy's height – he had easily towered above Howland a few heartbeats before – his shoulders breadth, the crimson surcoat revealing he was a Lannister creature and the right side of his face. _A squire. Gods, he's young, so young._

"Looks like someone didn't stomach it either," Howland commented in an undertone.

"He's a Lannister," Eddard flatly observed.

Ignoring his remark, Howland walked toward the Lannister squire.

"Are you alright, boy?"

"I-I'm fine. Thank you my lord. I'm sorry for..."

Ashamed, he stopped short of going into humiliating details. To his great surprise, the boy's voice had not broken, which meant he was even younger than Eddard thought. The tiny, almost girlish voice contrasted with his grown-up stature and a kind of wildness his eyes exuded.

As the boy shifted from foot to foot, he finally caught a glimpse at the left side of his face and gasped. He had seen this boy in the Great Hall, somewhere behind the lords of the main houses of the Westerlands, but he was on the opposite side of the room at this moment, and the boy's dark hair partly hid his features.

The burns were so deep, so extended, Ned didn't even know someone could survive them. From hairline to chin, the boy's left side was a mass of scars; the flesh was black by places and Eddard sucked in deeply when he realized the ear had disappeared, leaving a hole his strands of hair barely concealed. He must have felt Eddard's eyes on him, for he briskly spun on his heels, only showing them the unburnt side of his face.

"It's a long way from the Westerlands," Howland went on.

"Aye, my lord."

"It was your first battle, right?"

"It was not a battle. It was a sack," the boy spat. His tone was full of contempt and disgust.

 _At least, there is one person in their damn host who acknowledges what happened here._ The boy looked behind him, wondering if he should stay here with his liege lord's new allies or if he should go back to the Great Hall: his shoulders finally sank and he didn't move.

A gust of wind made Howland shiver, and brought again the smell of smoke. When Ned lifted his eyes, he discerned small things twirling in the air, like greyish snowflakes fluttering about for a while before landing on the balcony; the boy saw them too, and extended his hand to touch them. A puzzled look on his face, he scrutinized the snowflakes that would not melt despite the warmth of his palm.

"Ashes," Eddard explained abruptly.

Howland and the boy turned to him, more surprised by his sudden attempt to break the silence than by his answer. The three of them stood there, watching the evening wind bringing more and more ashes on the dead king's perfect garden, dusting the bright flowers and the box-tree with a greyish substance, until the boy finally left them wordlessly.

"Do you know who he is?" Eddard asked Howland.

Whenever they met new people, Howland always managed to identify these persons and to learn things about them before Ned; besides, he had noticed that his friend had not asked the boy's name, as if he already knew. Howland locked eyes with him, slightly embarrassed.

"His name is Sandor Clegane," he answered with a hint of reluctance.

"Clegane? Like the man who raped and killed Elia of Dorne?"

Eddard's indignant tone made Howland shake his head. _You don't understand_ , the green eyes said.

"He's the Mountain's brother, yes. But you saw his reaction! He's young, very young: just try to imagine what he witnessed today."

"Come on, Howland... If he's the Mountain's brother-"

"He _hates_ his brother," Howland stated, with this solemn voice that roused suspicion and annoyance among the Northern lords.

"How do you know?"

"I've heard he ran away from home after his father's death," Howland replied, ignoring his question. "And there's more. After his son got his scars, Lord Clegane kept saying the boy's bedding had caught fire, but some people put the blame on Gregor. I thought it was idle gossip. Until what we saw today."

"He would have burnt his own kin? That's monstrous!” After a short silence, he added: “How did you learn all these details about a boy belonging to the Lannister host?" Eddard asked, frowning.

Folding his arms on his chest, he waited for Howland's response, almost sure he wouldn't appreciate it.

"I've talked with Gerion Lannister."

Cursing, Eddard pinched the bridge on his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then locked eyes with the Crannogman.

"A Lannister, Howland? Are you out of your mind?"

He suddenly didn't care if someone could hear their conversation; his distrust toward Lord Tywin was an open secret, like the origins of the boy's scars.

"Gerion Lannister is _not_ like his brother!" Howland explained in an undertone, leaning toward him. "You can't just lump together all the members of the Lannister host. You can’t lump together the Clegane brothers. Some might be monsters but other disapprove, like you partly disapprove Robert's decisions."

Dismayed, Eddard looked at Howland and understood his words could easily outrun his thoughts if they kept talking.

"I've heard enough," he said, shrugging. "I've seen enough today. So I'm going to... explore this castle until I find a place where I could sleep. A damn place where I'm alone, a place that doesn't remind me of the horrors that happened here. Don't know if such a place exists."

Under Howland's saddened gaze, he chuckled nervously, then left the balcony and went back inside; he felt like someone had been hiding behind the open door leading to the balcony, listening to their whole conversation, and when he looked back, he saw boots that were very similar to those worn by the Clegane boy underneath the heavy curtain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arryn avoided his gaze for a few heartbeats, gathering his thoughts.  
> "What do you want, Ned?" he finally spat.  
> Annoyance distorted Arryn's features and on his long neck, Eddard saw his jugular vein jutting out.  
> "Justice," Eddard answered, a challenging look in his eyes. "Of course, the inhabitants of this city won't see justice done. Do justice to the people of King's Landing would mean hang or send to the Wall every member of the Lannister host-"  
> Arryn's fist hit the table with a thud and he cursed in an undertone.  
> "So I will ask for one thing, Jon: bring to justice Ser Jaime Lannister for regicide, Ser Amory Lorch for Rhaenys Targaryen's murder and Ser Gregor Clegane for Princess Elia's rape and murder-"  
> "Are you out of mind?" Arryn rasped. "You want to destroy all I did last night!"  
> Eddard leaned forward, his hands lying flat on the thick table, and when he uttered the question that burned his lips, he sounded almost contemptuous:  
> "May I ask what you did last night?"  
> "I did my best to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the previous chapter, this one is linked to chapter 10 of Two-and-Ten... and Sandor is back!

When the morning fog dissipated in the first rays of light, the inner yard of the Red Keep looked like a pigsty and its ocher sand disappeared under a chaos of tents and camp fires. _Two hosts sharing a castle which is smaller than Winterfell_ , he mused, disheartened by the sight of archers and lancers still sleeping under their rough blankets or getting up to relieve themselves against a wall.

Leaning his elbows on the window ledge made of pale red stone, Eddard observed the improvised camp of the Lannisters, directly below him. _Crimson tents and the crimson banners everywhere. At least, they removed the red banners floating above the Red Keep._ Tywin's good will gesture didn't soothe Eddard's thirst for revenge though; on the contrary, it increased his need to see the Lannisters punished for what they had done. _A Lannister always pays his debts. Well, I'll give them an occasion to prove consistent and pay for their crimes._

He stood up and resumed his walk to the Tower of the Hand, where Jon Arryn had probably taken up residence. After their arrival in the Red Keep, it had been obvious that only Arryn could be Robert's Hand. Robert had offered Ned the badge with a tiny hand carved on it, but he had refused instinctively: it was late, Eddard had finally found a room where he could have some rest in Maegor's Holdfast, and already slept when a drunken Robert knocked at his door. Ned looked fixedly at his old friend begging for his advices and his help to rule the realm, then telling him that, being the Hand of King, he would become rich and powerful. Puzzled by his cold stare, Robert rested his head against the door frame, swallowing hard as he understood Ned could refuse.

"Winterfell is all I want, now," Eddard replied after a few heartbeats. "I did what I did for Lyanna, not for titles."

With that, he closed the door in Robert's face and heard the new king bellowing he would give the badge to Arryn. Eddard hardly slept, after Robert's visit, pondering over the situation and thinking of the better strategy to get rid of the Lannisters' presence. _But Arryn will listen to me: he'll understand my point of view and tell me how we can set Tywin Lannister aside from the small council._

As he left Maegor's Holdfast to cross the yard leading to the Tower of the Hand, the acrid smell of smoke reminded him of the dreadful visions of the sack. He winced and kept walking, avoided a foot soldier sobering up and reached the Tower where Arryn had most likely spent the night. Ned was sure that once Robert had gotten over his refusal, he had turned to Arryn. And Arryn had accepted: the Lord of the Eyrie would not let Robert down. Sometimes, Eddard wondered if Arryn didn't prefer shaping his wards – Robert and himself – to ruling the Vale. Arryn loved to play the part of the wise and seasoned man who advised them when they had doubts and chided them when they misbehaved. _Now he will have many reasons to chide Robert._

Another flight of stairs led him to a corridor where he recognized the blue and white banner of House Arryn, several guards and the squire who served Jon. The boy bowed slightly and knocked at the heavy door made of oak banded with black iron to announce Ned's arrival. Arryn's baritone voice asked who paid him a visit so early in the morning and he finally told his squire to let Eddard in.

Since he was a boy, Ned had heard about the Red Keep and the apartments of the Hand; he had imagined large rooms with a solemn atmosphere, not a solar littered with Arryn's belongings – clothes, weapons and scrolls. Arryn wasn't fully dressed; he stood next to the table, his breeches on, while his doublet hanged on the back of a chair.

"You didn't sleep a wink all night," Arryn said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was not a question.

"You know me well. Congratulations. You're now the Hand of the King," Eddard replied, sweeping the cluttered room.

"I should have refused. Being Robert's Hand is no bed of roses."

Arryn's honesty forced a smile out of him.

"We need to talk about the Lannisters," Eddard went on.

"Very well. You read my thoughts. Please take a seat, Ned."

His back stiffened immediately; whenever Arryn told him to sit down before discussing serious matters, it meant that he had bad news. He looked at the broad-shouldered man suspiciously and nevertheless settled on a heavy armchair, while his host put his doublet on.

"We must get rid of the Lannisters," Eddard said plainly. "They sacked the city and therefore must be punished."

"They gave Robert the Iron Throne," Arryn retorted, sitting across him.

"I found Jaime Lannister lounging on the Iron Throne!"

"Nobody can lounge on the Iron Throne. The blades-"

"I don't care about the blades!" Eddard roared. "He was sitting there because his father wants to rule the kingdom. The Lannisters won't stop until they get what they want."

"And what do they want, pray tell?" Arryn asked, sarcastic.

"Power. Tywin wanted to overthrow Aerys as much as Robert, but he didn't want to waste his forces in a war, so he waited until no one could ignore which was the winning side. Why did he arrive just before us in King's Landing, according to you?"

"Because he wanted to give Robert a token of fealty."

"The slaughtered children. And their mother, raped and stabbed. Or strangled, maybe. Howland heard them talk about it, but he was so disgusted he left before getting all the details about Princess Elia's death."

He didn't try to conceal the hatred and contempt he felt. Ill-at-ease, Arryn shifted on his high-backed armchair.

"Please, Ned. Elia was our enemy. Her husband abducted your sister."

"I doubt Elia of Dorne helped Rhaegar when he stole Lyanna. All I know is that she was an innocent woman and those Lannister knights butchered her."

Arryn avoided his gaze for a few heartbeats, gathering his thoughts.

"What do you want, Ned?" he finally spat.

Annoyance distorted Arryn's features and on his long neck, Eddard saw his jugular vein jutting out.

"Justice," Eddard answered, a challenging look in his eyes. "Of course, the inhabitants of this city won't see justice done. Do justice to the people of King's Landing would mean hang or send to the Wall every member of the Lannister host-"

Arryn's fist hit the table with a thud and he cursed in an undertone.

"So I will ask for one thing, Jon: bring to justice Ser Jaime Lannister for regicide, Ser Amory Lorch for Rhaenys Targaryen's murder and Ser Gregor Clegane for Princess Elia's rape and murder-"

"Are you out of mind?" Arryn rasped. "You want to destroy all I did last night!"

Eddard leaned forward, his hands lying flat on the thick table, and when he uttered the question that burned his lips, he sounded almost contemptuous:

"May I ask what you did last night?"

"I did my best to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms."

There had been a time when the man sitting across him was the closest thing he had to a father, a time when he trusted his judgment and admire his noble behavior. _This time is gone. Is that what you're supposed to feel when you become a man? Disappointment, betrayal and a taste of ashes in your mouth?_

"What title did you promise Tywin Lannister, Jon? No, let me guess: he'll be Robert's Master of Coin. Now you're going to tell me he's perfect for the job."

Arryn shook his head.

"Despite your suspicions, Tywin Lannister doesn't want any title. I promised him a wedding."

_No. Not that wedding._ Like the fog dissipating in the yard a few moments ago and revealing the crimson tents of the Westerlands host, Tywin's plan appeared clearly in Eddard's mind; he wanted Robert to marry his daughter Cersei, so that she could be queen. Robert's heirs would be Baratheon _and Lannisters_ . Tywin would not only have his revenge on the Targaryens he loathed, but also on the ruling Princess of Dorne, whose daughter had married Rhaegar. _Tywin kills two birds with one stone; House Lannister becomes the second more powerful house in the realm and Robert burns his bridges. No need to be very smart to imagine that I will disapprove this wedding and walk away._

"I'm sorry, but you're making a huge mistake," Ned commented flatly.

"You don't understand anything, boy."

It had been years since Arryn had talked to him so harshly.

"Listen, Ned. There's a time to make war, to be pitiless with your enemies, but a true leader knows when he has to make his peace with someone. That's what we did, last night, Robert and I, while you and your friend Howland Reed were sniveling about the Elia's death! We talked with Tywin Lannister, we tried to make a long-lasting alliance which will save the realm."

"Save the realm?" Eddard repeated, skeptical.

"There is no gold left in the royal treasury. Do you have the slightest idea of how much costs a war? We don't have enough coin to pay our soldiers, we must rebuild the cities destroyed during the battles. I could tell you about the necessary works in Stoney Sept, but you just have to look through the nearest window to see the ruins. And Tywin Lannister can lend the Crown all the gold we need."

Ned chuckled nervously.

"So what? Being rich enough to rebuild King's Landing allows him to sack the city, burn down the houses and rape the women? Tywin's gold mines will buy your absolution?"

"This is not a joke, Ned. These are serious matters."

"I was not joking when I asked you to punish Jaime Lannister and the Lannister knights who killed the last Targaryens."

Arryn sighed heavily.

"What do you suggest?"

"Jaime Lannister could take the black, at the very least," Eddard offered. "It would be a honorable way to pay for his crime."

"No way. Robert can't marry one golden head and send the other one to the Wall. What would it look like?"

"Justice. Impunity is a very bad signal you send to the smallfolk."

"This is not justice: this is politics and you clearly don't understand politics."

There was no more cruelty in Arryn's voice, only a hint of sadness. _He's as disappointed by my behavior as I am by his. We should end this conversation before one of us says something he can't take back._

"The two Lannister knights..." Eddard began, swallowing hard, "they're not Tywin's kin. They're pawns. I want them dead. I want Robert to announce they'll be beheaded for their crimes... If you want to make peace, you should think about the Dornishmen. You can't just make an alliance with the Westerlands and alienate the Martells. It’s foolhardy."

He stopped talking for a heartbeat, well aware that his last suggestion would sound like he waived his idea of justice.

"Jaime Lannister is free to go if Tywin delivers Lorch and Clegane. The Martells will never forgive Robert if he let those so-called knights escape justice."

Eddard knew he had reached a sensitive area; Arryn remained silent for a while, observing the grained surface of the table, then raised his head and met Ned's eyes.

"I doubt Tywin will accept such a deal."

"There's only one way to be make sure he'll refuse: we should ask him. I will ask him in front of Robert."

Eddard pushed himself from his seat, waiting for Arryn's reaction.

"Robert is probably still asleep," Arryn observed, glued to his gilded leather armchair.

"A king shouldn't sleep when his realm is but ruins," Ned spat. "Do you think that Tywin Lannister is asleep?"

He walked to the door but Arryn's voice stopped him mid-stride.

"I'll go with you, Ned."

* * *

Their encounter took the appearances of a Small Council, not only because Arryn invited them all in the Tower of the Hand. The other members of the former Small Council being either dead or dismissed, the Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys, and the Grand Maester Pycelle attended the meeting, their presence showing that a kind of strange continuity with the Targaryen era existed. Both seemed ill-at-ease; Pycelle smiled a bit too much and Varys remained very silent for a man supposed to know everything, even the more trifling events of the Seven Kingdoms.

Robert was sitting at the head of the table, with Arryn at his right side; Tywin Lannister and his brother Gerion took place on Robert's left while Eddard shared the other end of the table with Varys and Pycelle. Some boys stood near the door, bearing their master's livery: Robert's timid squire, Arryn's beanpole and the scarred boy serving Lord Tywin he had met on the balcony. _Clegane's brother. Why did Tywin choose a boy who is neither old enough nor able to make a good impression to squire for him? Does he use the boy, because of his name, as a reminder of what he's ready to do, like ordering the slaughter of a woman and her children?_

"Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane are mine," Tywin answered softly after listening to Eddard's question. "Mine to chastise or to reward. In this case, I'll reward them."

He looked so threatening at this moment, despite his exquisite manners and clear-cut tone, that Pycelle shivered.

"They got rid of three persons who stood in King Robert's way to the Iron Throne," Tywin added. "Your address makes me question your loyalty towards King Robert, Lord Eddard."

A seething rage took hold of Ned. _The lion feels in his bones I distance myself from Robert and he'll use our difference of opinion shamelessly._

"I'll lend enough gold to rebuild most of the places ruined or destroyed by battles. It's a good deal for the Crown," he added, glancing sideways at Robert. "No need to say that I would reconsider my offer should my bannermen be brought to justice."

"Why are we talking about this, in the first place?" Robert asked.

Understanding his old friend wouldn't help him in this, Eddard's heart sank.

"Will you agree with me, Lord Tywin, if I say you brought the children's dead bodies to our new King as a token of fealty?" Eddard went on, ignoring Robert puzzled look and the quivering of Pycelle, beside him.

Tywin nodded slowly, his unsettling green eyes locking with his; a few yards behind the Warden of the West's high-backed chair, he noted how furious the young Clegane looked, shifting from foot to foot.

"What kind of loyal liegeman were you when you sacked and burned the capital? When your men killed or raped the townsfolk?"

"Enough!" Robert bellowed.

When Gerion Lannister opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, his elder brother raised his hand in a commanding gesture that shushed the fair-haired man; Gerion sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Beside Ned, Lord Varys kept staring at Tywin, fascinated by his demeanor. The Lord of Casterly Rock let out a sigh expressing his annoyance in front of an assembly so unworthy of his cleverness, rooted his elbows to the table and looked at them over steepled fingers.

"I won this city for King Robert and I prevented the mad king from burning it. Do you think he would have set fire to a bunch of inns like some of my men did? No. If I had not interfered, you would have seen green hues in the sky, green flames devouring houses and people alike. Your host would have waited for one night and one day, until the ashes went cold, before crossing the gates. Nothing of this" – his hand showed the room a sweeping gesture – "would remain. I did save the city." Undeterred, he scowled at Eddard.

"And what would it look like if the men who got rid of the remaining Targaryens and secured the dynasty your friend King Robert is about to start were beheaded? Smallfolk would not understand such a decision. However, there's something I understand quite well, Lord Eddard. You don't care for the late Dornish princess, nor for her children, nor for my bannermen. With your accusation, you only mean to harm my son, Ser Jaime."

Eddard got on his feet instantly, startling the Grand Maester who cringed on his seat.

"I will not have you talking to me this way, Lord Tywin. Instead of accusing me, you should consider your own actions. You betrayed the Mad King soon after promising him your help and you butchered the largest city of the realm. As for your son, he discarded the vows he had taken and stabbed the king he once swore to protect. I'm sad to observe that the such a conduct could go unpunished, after a war that meant to free us from the unfairness of the Targaryen era."

A sardonic smile appeared on Tywin's lips.

"Wars aren't won with promises and pledges, Lord Eddard."

"A pledge I made months ago is precisely the reason why I am here today," he retorted.

"I pity you, then."

Tywin's piercing green eyes were set on Ned, as if the Lord of Casterly Rock tried to understand what he considered an idiotic and nonsensical attitude. _He thinks fools like me die young._ Robert and Arryn remained silent, thus showing they wouldn't take Eddard's side.

"Anyway," Tywin added, "I won't let you punish my bannermen – let alone my son – but... I wanted to chastise some of my men who overstepped my orders. If King Robert wants to make an example of these men, I'm ready to hand them over. Tell me Gerion, what happened with the plunderers we caught near the Great Sept?"

"Master Symon and your squire took care of them," the second golden head replied. "We should ask Clegane."

Turning around, he motioned the boy to come, while Pycelle and Varys suppressed a shiver. _The boy's name will soon be an insult, after what his brother did._ Just before the meeting in the Tower of the Hand, he had heard Northerners referring to Jaime as the Kingslayer. _'Kingslayer', 'Clegane' these names will be Robert's reign new spectres._

The tall scarred boy took a few steps forward and stopped in front of his master.

"Where are they, Clegane?" Tywin asked.

"Master Symon and I locked them in the dungeons."

"Wherever you go, Clegane, you can't help visiting dungeons," Gerion commented and it sounded like a private joke.

Whether he enjoyed the jape or not, the squire remained very serious, glancing from time to time at Pycelle who adjusted his lorgnon on his nose to have a good look at the boy's burned cheek.

"Go fetch Symon and bring back these men," Tywin ordered. "Lord Eddard wishes to make an example and I want to oblige him."

The boy turned around and walked away.

"Are we done?" Robert asked.

"I suppose we are," Tywin replied in a casual tone. "As for the feast I intend to regale my host, we already discussed it."

Eddard swallowed his pride, understanding that Robert would not question the alliance Arryn had made with the Lannisters.

"May I ask if I could examine this boy's extraordinary burns?" Pycelle asked, with his quavering voice.

Tywin stared at him for a while, his green eyes glistening with a mix of surprise and anger.

"The boy is mine," he answered curtly, "and he'll go to the maester only if I tell him to do so."

With that, Tywin pushed himself from his chair and took his leave, his brother on his heels.

Eddard was still standing at the end of the table, near a dumbfounded Pycelle. Beside the Grand Maester, Varys let out a deep sigh and raised his gaze to him.

"Lord Eddard, may I have a word with you?"

* * *

Myrish rugs covered the floor in the Master of Whisperers' apartments, muffling Lord Varys' footsteps. The Spider offered him to sit down on a couch and chose for himself an armchair upholstered with lilac brocade that almost matched his long silken tunic.

"I may have information for you," the eunuch began, hiding his plump hands in his long sleeves. "When you mentioned that vow you made, during your... tactful debate with Lord Tywin, were you referring to your sister, Lady Lyanna?"

"Can you tell me where she is?"

Eddard didn't even try to conceal the urgency in his tone.

"Would that I could. Alas, my lord, Prince Rhaegar was a cautious young man and I only have hints. I can ask my little birds to find substantial clues, though. I believe she is in Dorne, but I didn't locate her precisely and Dorne is such a large peninsula..."

Ned swept the large room furbished with an exquisite taste and finally set his eyes on his host.

"Are you trying to oust me, Lord Varys? To send me away from King's Landing?"

Unabashed, the eunuch tilted his head and smiled.

"Well, my lord, I didn't know you were so eager to stay in the capital."

"I'm not. Right now, all I want is to get my sister back and to see Winterfell again. However, if you try to keep me out of the Red Keep so that you can resume your little schemes-"

"This place is dangerous, Lord Eddard. Dangerous and hardly compatible with your nature, but you already discovered it. King Robert will probably send you to rescue his younger brother in Storm's End; I can nevertheless gather some more information about your sister before you come back, if you want."

Eddard nodded gladly. The prospect of leaving King's Landing and its web of intrigue was all he needed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't lie to me," Stannis went on, neither angry nor annoyed. "And forget about your loyalty towards Robert. Being the new king doesn't allow him to let his brother and the garrison he left in Storm's End starve to death."  
> "King Robert was about to send troops," Eddard said. "I simply preempted-"  
> Stannis chuckled darkly. ""About to send troops? Your sense of compromise is insulting, Eddard. I am not a child anymore and I can see Robert's little game. My brother started this war to find the woman he loved and – don't take it personally – along the way, he realized he could get more than a dishonored girl abducted by Rhaegar. The Iron Throne. Anyway, Robert is consumed by his fantasies of greatness; he forgot why this war began. But even before, he had forgotten he had a brother. And loyal soldiers too, defending his home against the Targaryen troops. He never answered to the ravens I sent him. And stop calling him 'King Robert'; we both know that my brother's attitude is not regal. Robert will always be Robert."

The public execution of the two plunderers Tywin Lannister had generously handed over to Robert was a mummer's farce, only meant to show how strong was the alliance between House Lannister and the Crown. _And to shush me, to prevent me from bringing Ser Jaime to justice._ Maybe there was another purpose, as Tywin's moves were carefully thought through; as he attended the execution in a wooden gallery hastily made in Fishmonger's Square, Ned had seen fright in the eyes of the Lannister soldiers crowded around the scaffold. _Tywin only knows one way to make his men obey: threatening them, feeding their doubts._

Watching the gallows from the place of honor, Robert kept a kingly attitude all along the ceremony. When the two plunderers were but puppets swaying in the air, the inhabitants of King's Landing shouted and bellowed at them, as if these two men had burdened themselves with all the murders, rapes, and thefts that had happened during the Sack.

Afterward, when there was nothing more on the scaffold to entertain the good people living in the capital, Robert stood up and they all acclaimed him. Their cries and their cheers made Eddard sick; a few days before, these men and women praised Aerys and the Targaryens to the skies, and now they were Robert's faithful subjects. _I won't stay any longer_ , he thought. He had made his decision.

* * *

His bedchamber was in a mess since Eddard had begun to pack; he had spread out belongings and weapons on his unmade bed, the sheets and furs tossed on the floor adding to the untidiness of the room. Ned, usually so eager to help the servants and to leave his bedroom neat everyday, didn't care this time: he would be gone very soon, and Howland would go with him.

Someone came in and Eddard, kneeling before the chest where he stored his clothes, opened his mouth before raising his gaze.

"Howland, we should hurry-"

Except that it was not Howland. Jon Arryn stood on the threshold, an angry look on his wrinkled face.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing?"

"I'm packing, obviously," Ned answered.

Bringing his hands on his hips, Arryn snorted.

"You can't go. What would your departure look like?" he asked Eddard.

"I'm heading to Storm's End, to rescue Robert's brother. In my opinion, it looks like a damn good deed. Mace Tyrell besieges Storm's End for months and young Stannis must be exhausted."

"We have men to deal with Mace Tyrell. I can send-"

"I don't care who you can send," Eddard cut him off. "I won't stay here more than necessary. You wanted me to gather the Northern host, I did it. You wanted me to win battles for Robert, I did it. You wanted me to let you play your little games with Tywin Lannister? Tywin Lannister is all yours. I warned you about this man and his house, you wouldn't listen to me, so now leave me alone."

In the untidy room, the air was thick with a heavy and dangerous tension.

"Why are you mad at me?" Arryn rasped.

"I'm not mad at you. I just understood I was wrong about you. Robert and you are tired of the search for Lyanna. Actually, I'm waiting for Lord Varys to give me more information about the place where she could be. Lord Varys! Aerys' creature! Your silence and lack of interest for my sister forced me to seek his help."

Arryn took a step forward and shut the door carefully. For a fleeting moment, Ned saw on his weary face the same concern Arryn showed every time he was sick or wounded, then the impassible mask came back.

"We need you here," he said, swallowing hard.

"I doubt that very much. But I know Stannis needs me."

"And what is this stupid idea of hanging around with Howland Reed?" Arryn spat. "He's a Crannogman! If you really want to befriend with someone, why don't you chose a Northerner like Manderly or Umber?"

"Last time I checked, the Reeds were Northerners."

"Oh, please, Ned, you know what I mean. Can't you choose some warrior, instead of that frog-eater who annoys everyone with his silly premonitions?"

Still kneeling by his chest, Ned slammed the lid so abruptly the clack made Arryn jump and before any of them could express their anger, Howland opened the door and froze. The Crannogman had donned his leather boiled armor to face the ride that awaited them, and even with his thick outfit, he looked skinny. He swept the messy room until he found Eddard's furious gaze and he cleared his throat.

"I heard-" he began in a faltering tone. "Well, it doesn't matter... I'll be waiting for you in the corridor, Eddard."

As quickly as he had come in, he stepped back and closed the door, leaving Arryn and his former ward alone. The room went silent again and Eddard picked the furs lying on the tiles, dusted them and eventually put them into the chest. When he stood up, he locked eyes with Arryn, whose saddened expression struck him.

"I'm done here," Eddard mumbled.

Later, that day, he crossed the gates protecting the Red Keep from the hovels and smoking ruins of the city without ever looking back; the sky was lowering on the East and the dark grey clouds would bring rain showers on the Stormlands, but Eddard felt relieved. He was leaving the capital and its court intrigues, heading to a place where someone needed his help; he was riding with chosen companions. On his right side, Howland seemed pleased enough to finally relax on his new mount, and the column of Northerners who had volunteered to rescue Stannis hummed songs reminding them of their homeland. _Next turn of the moon, we'll return to King's Landing. And Varys will tell me where is Lyanna._

* * *

"Storm's End has never fallen to any siege or storm," Howland said, trying to keep pace with Eddard's horse.

He smiled; Howland had always stories of all kind about every place in the Seven Kingdoms. On the road to King's Landing, he had told him almost everything about Aegon's arrival in the Crownlands. _But Aegon is gone_ , he thought. _And so are his descendants, including the little Aegon._

"You know that the castle is protected by spells, of course?" Howland asked.

"Said spells would shield Stannis and his men from Mace Tyrell's forces, according to you?" Eddard answered, a skeptical grin on his face.

Howland rolled his eyes. "You're too rational, Ned. I'm trying to reassure you. We'll see the castle as soon as we reach the top of the hill."

The rocky landscape had slowed down their progression, making Eddard more anxious about what they would find in Storm's End.

"It's about time!" he told Howland. "Stannis and Benjen are almost the same age; I would never leave my little brother facing a siege in Winterfell for months before sending him some help."

His accusation was directed at Robert and Howland probably thought he was going too far, for he reached out and put his gloved hand on Eddard's forearm. When he turned his head, Ned noticed Howland's knowing look and he sighed heavily. _I know some of my men may be listening, but that's the truth: Robert led his men, won battles and took the Iron Throne, but he never lifted a finger for Stannis._

The vanguard stopped on the top of the hill and Eddard took the spyglass he kept in his saddle-bag. Despite the uneven surface of the lens that gave him a blurred vision, what he saw was not as disastrous as he expected.

Under the dark clouds, the black and red banners of House Targaryen and the Tyrell sigil with a golden rose on a green field, were visible at the foot of the castle. _Not on the battlements. It's not too late._ He thought the news of the Sack had come to the Stormlands, bringing hope to the besieged troops and disheartening the attackers.

Eddard swiveled and looked behind him: on the coastal path, a long line of men, some mounted and some on foot, stretched to the nearest hill. _The previous battles have tired them out: if only one charge of our horsemen could defeat Mace Tyrell's forces..._ He put his spyglass back in the saddle-bag and hurtled down the hill; straight ahead, he could see the headland where the first Storm King had built the castle. On both sides of the only path leading to the fortress, the wind-battered cliffs prevented any landing – but didn't allow the attackers to escape by sea, now that the Northern host was here. Most of the men Tyrell commanded were gathered below the outer curtain wall, and only a small group guarded the road. _They saw us, they guess we outnumber them._

From the foot of the hill, he noticed a sudden agitation among the soldiers who blocked off the road; the tiny silhouette of a horseman left them and cantered to the Targaryen encampment. Eddard stopped his troops and gave orders so that his men readied themselves for the impending fight. Howland came back quickly after warning the Crannogmen and he positioned his mare next to Eddard's horse.

"Are they going to attack us or will they wait for us to charge?" Howland asked.

"I don't know yet."

In the distance, he sensed the last Targaryen forces' nervousness: men gesturing and probably shouting, though the gusts of wind blew away their words. _They disagree._ Around Eddard, the Northerners adjusted their mailed gloves and put on their helmets; no need to turn around to know that the archers and crossbowmen were preparing their weapons too. In these moments before a battle, time seemed to stretch out, trying the men's patience and unnerving the younger members of the host. Eddard felt as tense as the bowstring the archers drew. It wasn't until he gave a ragged exhale that he noticed he had been holding his breath for some time.

"Let's go," Eddard said, motioning the Northern cavalry forward.

_They need to know we're ready to charge._ As far as he knew, Tyrell was a capable man and a skilled warrior. Rumormongers said that he had exaggerated his role during the Battle of Ashford and that it was Randyll Tarly, in command of the royalist vanguard, who had won the fight, but despising Tyrell would be foolish. A man who besieged an impregnable fortress for months couldn't be underestimated.

The Northern cavalry Eddard led had barely covered half the distance between the foot of the hill and the group of men blocking the path when all the Targaryen banners fell to the ground. Ned pulled the reins and shouted, until the last horsemen stopped. Most of the Northerners were within range of the Targaryen bows. As he tried to catch his breath, he thought the whole scene was uncanny: the cavalry hurtling down the slope, hurrying to the path surrounded by rocky cliffs and suddenly stopping fifty yards before the roadblock. The crashing of the waves added to the eerie feeling that took hold of Eddard.

The Northerners gathered around him and began to observe the miserable Targaryen troops; their supply lines had been cut before the Sack, when Aerys tried to reorganize his forces and to protect the capital, and they had most likely run out of food, if their gaunt faces were any indication. Their cloaks, damp with sea spray, hung on their shoulders and made them look pitiable. Behind them, a group of mounted men who seemed as exhausted as the soldiers who blocked the road, slowly approached. Among them, Eddard spotted a young brown-haired man, who looked probably handsome when he lived in his castle and ate his fill. _Mace Tyrell._

The commander of the Targaryen forces didn't flinch when he stopped in front of Eddard; he just swallowed hard and slightly nodded, letting everyone know the siege was over.

Whether Stannis watched the scene from the battlements of Storm's End or not, Ned couldn't tell, but all he knew was that this was the end of Stannis' ordeal and that he was himself grateful to the Gods: the Northerners wouldn't have to fight that day, and relief flooded him.

* * *

The storms so frequent in this place and the vicinity of the raging waters – the Shipbreaker Bay didn't usurp his reputation – had forced the builders to some adjustments and the windows breaking the monotony of the dark thick walls were long and narrow. They brought a bleak light in the Great Hall, where Stannis welcomed Ned, Howland and the Bannermen of the North who had rescued the seat of House Baratheon.

Ned thought his heart would sink the moment he would see Stannis, because Robert's brother was so young he could only remind him of Benjen, because he had had his share of worries and hardships during the last months but he didn't expect to find a boy whose sullen mood bordered on coldness.

Stannis was sitting on the dais, at one end of the Great Hall, very straight in the high-backed chair the lords of Storm's End had used for decades. Hands gripping the armrests, he seemed both tired and jaded as the Northerners came in and stood before him. Robert's brother thanked them politely, yet in a distant tone, then asked Eddard if they could talk in private. On his way to the solar, Ned met Howland's puzzled look and followed the lanky boy who had held out on Mace Tyrell for months.

_Once in the solar, he won't have to pretend anymore_ , Eddard thought. _He'll become again the boy I met during the Tourney at Harrenhal._ No matter how hard he tried to stay confident, his hopes crumbled when Stannis closed the door behind them and asked bluntly:

"You did this of your own free will, right, Lord Eddard? Robert didn't send you."

Ned was at a loss. He felt like he couldn't indulge in lying to Stannis, yet he didn't want to cause a quarrel between the Baratheon siblings. _Another quarrel._ Whenever Robert evoked his brothers, he always mocked Renly's childish behavior and he ranted on about Stannis' fussiness. More than often, he complained about their repeated arguments in Storm's End.

"Don't lie to me," Stannis went on, neither angry nor annoyed. "And forget about your loyalty towards Robert. Being the new king doesn't allow him to let his brother and the garrison he left in Storm's End starve to death."

A servant bringing in mulled wine gave Ned enough time to find the right answer – both wine and spices had come with the Stark host, as a present for the brave defenders of Storm's End. Gesturing to an armchair and settling himself on a bench seat, Stannis clutched the cup between his hands, enjoying the warmth that it emitted.

"King Robert was about to send troops," Eddard said, after burning his tongue while drinking the hot beverage. "I simply preempted-"

Stannis chuckled darkly. "About to send troops? Your sense of compromise is insulting, Eddard. I am not a child anymore and I can see Robert's little game. My brother started this war to find the woman he loved and – don't take it personally – along the way, he realized he could get more than a dishonored girl abducted by Rhaegar. The Iron Throne. Anyway, Robert is consumed by his fantasies of greatness; he forgot why this war began. But even before, he had forgotten he had a brother. And loyal soldiers too, defending his home against the Targaryen troops. He never answered to the ravens I sent him. And stop calling him 'King Robert'; we both know that my brother's attitude is not regal. Robert will always be Robert."

Eddard remained silent, astonished by the boy's clear-sightedness; despite his surprise, he felt the urge to explain why he was here, eager to clear up any misunderstanding.

"During the siege, you had enough time to mull over the situation and I don't want you to misjudge your brother or to praise me for bad reasons," he told Stannis. "Don't imagine that I left King's Landing with the idea of lifting the siege of Storm's End and becoming a hero. I _needed_ to quit the capital."

Stannis observed him wordlessly. As the castle had run out of candles long ago, only the narrow windows provided light in the solar, and the lack of luminosity emphasized the boy's dark circles.

"Well, I thank you for your outspokenness," Stannis replied after a while. "When you said you _needed_ to leave King's Landing, does it mean Robert sent you away?"

"Robert wanted me to stay, as a matter of fact. I decided to leave because... I'm not interested in politics."

Stannis' expression changed and curiosity gave way to disbelief. He slightly shook his head.

"If you don't see to politics, someday politics will see to you, Eddard."

It sounded like an old man's advice and Ned shuddered at the thought that Stannis may be right. _Am I making a mistake when I only think of going back North?_ For a few heartbeats, he imagined himself withering in King's Landing, spending his time in Arryn's shadow: these days, when he was a docile ward in the Eyrie, were gone.

"What about Lord Tyrell?" Stannis asked. "What did my kingly brother decide?"

"If he fought back, Arryn said we had to kill him and his men," Eddard replied. "If he yielded, though..."

Neither Arryn nor Robert had uttered a word about that, probably because they expected Tyrell to die fighting. For lack of any instruction, the Northerners and the garrison of Storm's End had locked Mace Tyrell and his officers in the dungeons, before trying to organize an encampment where the Targaryen soldiers would wait for their fate; the archers, crossbowmen and lancers would most likely join the new royal army. _Robert needs them._

"Send a raven to your brother and ask him what to do with Tyrell," Eddard advised him. "I suppose Robert will demand that Tyrell make amends and keep a low profile... But I don't think your brother will cut his head; House Tyrell has held the Reach for centuries. No need to lose another part of the Seven Kingdoms. Robert already turned away the Dornishmen when he refused to punish the men who murdered the last Targaryens. The Martell won't forgive Robert for Elia's murder."

Seemingly fascinated, Stannis scooted to the edge of his seat.

"Are you telling me that you, the man whose sister was abducted by Rhaegar Targaryen, you asked Robert to kill Elia's murderers?"

Eddard observed the youth for a while, then nodded. His palms turned to the ceiling, Stannis shrugged in disbelief.

"I didn't have any liking for Elia Martell, I barely met her," Eddard explained. "But is it fair that two murderers who openly admitted their crimes go unpunished?"

Stannis thoughtfully looked back at him.

"I agree with you, Eddard. If I had been in King's Landing instead of rotting in this place, I would have backed you. Do you know what I decided about Davos Seaworth, the smuggler who slipped through the Redwyne's fleet line and therefore saved us from starvation?"

Ned slightly shook his head; despite the semi darkness, he noticed Stannis' feverish gaze.

"I suppose you rewarded him for his help," he offered.

Robert's brother locked eyes with him.

"I knighted him and I gave him lands on Cape Wrath because you would have found the Targaryen banners on Storm's End, without his help. Then I ordered one of my men to cut off the first joint from each finger of his left hand, because no feat could pay for his past crimes."

Eddard clenched his jaw, wondering what to say. In the absence of his elder brother, Stannis had forged his own moral code – at odds with Robert's pragmatism – and he had clung to his duties to endure the hardships of the siege, until the last bits of his innocence disappeared. _Benjen could have turned into a sullen, bitter person during my wandering in the South_ , he mused. _I should hurry and go back North to take care of my brother before he becomes as cold and hardened as Stannis. But before, I'll find Lyanna._

* * *

Eddard's impatience grew with every league, on their way back to King's Landing; every night, when he visited his men in the encampment, he saw their tired faces and noticed their exhaustion, but at daylight, when the column stretched between the hills of the Stormlands, he champed at the bit, wondering why they progressed at such a slow pace. In the end, he sent a raven to Lord Varys and asked if he had found out where Lyanna was.

_The Spider will learn something about her; she didn't disappear without a trace._ He tried to reassure himself and Howland's soothing presence became as necessary as the air he breathed. Two days after he sent the raven, he got his answer. The maester who accompanied their host was untying the message to the bird's leg when he nearly threw himself on the old man after dismounting his horse. Ned had left the head of the column as soon as he had seen the raven flying over them and he had turned around, before cantering to the cart where the maester kept his equipment and the birdcages.

"Should we stop?" asked one of the Manderlys, when he saw Eddard.

"No!" he shouted, "Go on! I'll catch up with the vanguard as soon as I'll know what's in this message."

While his assistant shoved the raven in a birdcage, the maester held out to Eddard the scroll.

" _Lord Stark,_

_My little birds finally located your sister. As far as I know, Rhaegar Targaryen left her in a dornish keep named the Tower of Joy and some of the most loyal friends of the late Prince guard her. She's alive..."_

He didn't need to read what followed. _At least._ Hot tears burned the corner of his eyes as he remembered Lyanna's laughter echoing in the staircases of Winterfell, her face framed with dark hair. He remained silent and perfectly still for a moment, then noticed the curious looks of his men.

"She's alive," he simply said.

Any precision was superfluous. The word spread in the column and the Northerners began to rejoice themselves, then a hush fell over the men. Lyanna might be alive, but they all knew she had probably been dishonored and rescuing her wouldn't change anything to that. _Am I ready to find her broken? Will I be able to help her?_ Mindlessly, Eddard crumpled the message; disheartened, he led his horse to the vanguard.

"There's another bird!" the maester's assistant bellowed.

The young man hurried to catch the raven and brought it proudly to Eddard, despite the maester's protestations. Eddard fumbled with the scroll this time, while his horse went on, keeping pace with the maester's cart. He didn't identify the sigil at first, probably because two different kinds of wax had been used; under the sigil of House Arryn, he recognized the deep blue wax used in Riverrun. _The message arrived in King's Landing first, before Arryn sent it to me_ , he thought, as an unexpected pressure constricted his chest. Unfolding the scroll, he recognized Lord Hoster Tully's sloping handwriting.

" _Lord Stark,_

_I have the great pleasure to inform you that your lady wife, my dear daughter Catelyn, is with child..."_

The message slipped from his hands and fell on the ground where the maester's assistant diligently picked it up. Walking by Eddard's horse, the assistant called his lord, but never managed to get any reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on this fic always make my day: thank you for your support!  
> Only one more chapter to go: the last installment will be about the Tower of Joy and Eddard's return to Winterfell...


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought a blade that had been in your house for so many years belonged here," Eddard finally told Lady Ashara, holding out Ser Arthur Dayne's greatsword. He slowly stepped forward and carefully put the sword on the table, so that Ashara could have a look at it. She hardly ducked her head, her gaze caressing the sheath ornate with silver repoussé and the carved pommel.  
> "Dawn," she simply whispered, as if calling someone she knew.  
> Eddard remembered 'Dawn' was the name of that greatsword made from a falling star the members of House Dayne guarded jealously; oddly enough, people called Ser Arthur 'the Sword of the Morning' because he carried a sword named Dawn. Every generation, a member of House Dayne received both the blade and that title. _How peculiar. It's the sword that gives the man his moniker, not the contrary._  
>  Eddard didn't move, observing Ashara and trying to remember how beautiful she was that night in Harrenhal, when he had danced with her. _After Brandon invited her for me. After Lyanna wiped the tears that rolled on her cheeks when Prince Rhaegar played the harp. What kind of spell had fallen upon us that night?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final installment of 'Promise'.

Nothing of this seemed real. As a matter of fact, not a single thing that had happened since their arrival in Dorne seemed real or even possible.

_ It doesn't make sense _ , Eddard kept repeating to himself. These words had worked their way into his mind when they had dismounted in front of the Tower of Joy, understanding that the last men staunchly defending the Targaryen cause were not in Dragonstone with Queen Rhaella, but there, standing in the way to the tower where Lyanna was waiting for him.  _ Three members of the former Kingsguard, and the Sword of the Morning was among them. _

The same feeling that all this was nonsense overtook him when he had pushed the door of his sister's cell and discovered her dying. Her bed looked like the bloodiest of battlefields. And she was there, alone... Ned had cradled her in his arms, whispered to her ear, promised she would recover, but she had smiled sadly. Lyanna knew he lied, yet she didn't protest.  _ We both knew. _

His heart pounding in his chest and still clutching her as if his grip could prevent Lyanna from dying, he had sworn what she had demanded. Ned often thought his vows had more value than other men's because he didn't spend his time promising things he couldn't keep, but that time he had no other choice than swearing what had happened in the Tower of Joy would remain secret, before realizing what it meant.

Eddard still didn't seize all the consequences of his promise, as Howland and him pulled the tower down so that the stones would cover up the fallen, whether they were members of the Kingsguard or their companions.

_ It's like looking through the glass walls of the greenhouse in Winterfell when I was a boy. _ Their uneven surface distorted what was beyond: people seemed bigger or thinner and every move they made acquired a ghostly appearance. One couldn't tell his lord father from the kitchen maid, through the glass walls: it was all a blur. Ned felt the same, except he was not looking at the courtyard of Winterfell through the glass walls; it was just his eyes.

He couldn't see what he was doing and he didn't even know how he ended up holding the greatsword Ser Arthur Dayne usually slung across his back, a blade which milky glow had struck him. He sat on one of the fallen stones of the Tower, sheathed the greatsword and finally sobbed, for there was nothing else to do. For the first time in months, Howland didn't feel the need to sit by his side or to talk to him; the Crannogman was shocked as well, even if he tried to stay strong while Ned fell apart.

"We need to go to Starfall," he told Howland, after a long while.

"Why? What is Starfall?"

"It's- it's a castle. The siege of House Dayne. We can't keep such a fine sword. Can't leave it in these ruins either. Lady Ashara Dayne should have it."

_ Did Howland remember Ashara's haunting purple eyes?  _ After all, he had only seen her once during the Tourney at Harrenhal. Did his friend remember Eddard had danced with this woman who infatuated so many lords?

Howland's eyes widened suddenly and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then he gave up. He sat across from Eddard and stared at the greatsword in its scabbard resting on his friend's lap. The wind blew from the North-East, in this part of the Dornish Mountains, a chilly wind drying Eddard's tears and bringing more questions when a wailing broke the silence. _ The child. _

The baby was just as red as the Dornish Mountains he was born in, when Howland went back with him.

"How far is Starfall?" he asked Eddard, cradling the child a bit too forcefully, and the screaming increased.

"A few more days South, I'm afraid."

As Howland tried to comfort the child, talking quietly and leaning over the boy's red face, Ned saw tears at the corner of his eyes; Howland wiped them hastily, but he knew they had had the same reaction.  _ The child looks like Lyanna. That's why I can't look at him. _

"We'll need goat milk," Howland added, trying to regain his composure.

"Why?"

"For the boy, of course. You don't intend to give him dried meat, do you? Dornishmen must have goats..."

He stood up so abruptly Ned was afraid he would drop his tiny burden – and he realized that, even if looking at this child was painful, he cared for him, much more than he could say – then, with a deliberate slowness, Howland stepped forward and held the baby out.

"What?" Eddard barked, clinging to the remains of his anger.

"He's a Stark," Howland said thoughtfully. "He's your son, now."

These words would haunt Eddard, perhaps for as long as his sister's begging tone, when she had told him  _ 'Promise me, Ned'. He's your son, now.  _ His eyes misted over again, but he took the child in his arms all the same and clutched to him.

_ He's your son, now. _ Against the absurd events of the last months, against the loss of his sister, against the dubious choices he had been forced to make, this certainty was all he had.

* * *

Was Lady Ashara Dayne as beautiful as he remembered her? Ned hesitated for a long time then he decided that the last months had caused permanent changes on her face. Her fascinating violet eyes were the same, but dark circles made her gaze feverish; she had always been pale – Southern women's aversion for outdoor activities and sun kept surprising him – yet the light complexion high-born ladies sought so eagerly had turned into a waxy tone. In Harrenhal, he had danced with a fiery woman who carried herself with self-confidence among the nobility and knew how to make the most of herself – the memory of her close-fitting bodice still haunted Eddard's mind. This seductive creature was gone, replaced by a woman whose haggard face matched her loose dress.

Even her expression had changed: he knew she wouldn't grin as she usually did, since he came to Starfall with the saddest news he could give her, but something in her eyes told him that she was absent, as if she had already stomached her brother's death and didn't expect anything from life.

Eddard was alone when he crossed the gates of Starfall; Howland had decided someone should stay outside with the baby. Bringing the child in this place, so few days after the fight at the Tower of Joy could arouse suspicion and Eddard didn't want to take any risk.

As her brother and guardian was not in Starfall, Lady Ashara welcomed Eddard in the castle's Hall. The once smiling, quicksilver lady-in-waiting Princess Elia praised so much was sitting behind a long table, emotionless and hieratic. Under the vaulted ceiling, the time seemed to stand still.

"I thought a blade that had been in your house for so many years belonged here," Eddard finally said, holding out Ser Arthur Dayne's greatsword. "May I-"

As she nodded, he slowly stepped forward and carefully put the sword on the table, so that Ashara could have a look at it. She hardly ducked her head, her gaze caressing the sheath ornate with silver repoussé and the carved pommel.

"Dawn," she simply whispered, as if calling someone she knew.

Eddard remembered 'Dawn' was the name of that greatsword made from a falling star the members of House Dayne guarded jealously; oddly enough, people called Ser Arthur 'the Sword of the Morning' because he carried a sword named Dawn. Every generation, a member of House Dayne received both the blade and that title.  _ How peculiar. It's the sword that gives the man his moniker, not the contrary. _

Eddard didn't move, observing Ashara and trying to remember how beautiful she was that night in Harrenhal, when he had danced with her.  _ After Brandon invited her for me. After Lyanna wiped the tears that rolled on her cheeks when Prince Rhaegar played the harp. What kind of spell had fallen upon us that night? _

Ashara's long fingers brushed the hilt of Dawn, then she lifted her eyes to Eddard. Under her violet gaze, so intense it made him swallow hard, he felt like the inexperienced boy he was that night.  _ At her mercy. _

"Did you kill him yourself, my lord?" she asked steadily.

For a heartbeat, a blast of wind from the sea was all they could heard, then Ned regained his composure.

"Aye, my lady, I must admit that I killed your brother."

What else could he say? Eddard slowly retreated to the spot where he stood a few moments before.

"I heard of your feats of arms during this war, my lord," she added. "My brother is on his way to King's Landing, to meet King Robert. He wants to make amends for... for we didn't choose the right side, I guess... Arthur would have never allowed our brother to kneel before the new king, but now that he's dead..."

Her inability to finish her sentences and her faraway look revealed her melancholy.  _ What happened to her? _ Eddard wondered as she looked through the large window; he sensed that her brother was not the only person she grieved. Eddard felt the urge to talk, to say anything that could break the awkward silence due to her lack of reaction, even it was misplaced.

"Your brother was the truest knight I ever met, my lady."

His remark brought an ironic smile on her thin lips.

"You speak very highly of my beloved Arthur. Coming from the man who slain my brother, the tribute is even more touching."

"My lady... I was looking for my sister Lyanna and your brother was in my way," he countered. "Ser Arthur knew exactly what he was doing when he drew his sword, when he and his friends killed my companions, one after the other. He was a brave knight, perhaps the bravest I ever met, but he was my sister's jailer."

"Brothers, sisters," Ashara said with a saturnine smile. "You would have done anything to find your sister. I can't help defending my brother's memory. Which one of us is right?"

"I have no talent for charades, my lady. Perhaps we are both right."

Convinced they had nothing more to tell each other, Eddard wanted to take his leave, but before he could say anything, Ashara's fluting voice resonated under the vaulted ceiling.

"What are you going to do now that your quest is over, my lord? Are you going back to King's Landing, to advise your dear friend the king? I heard you married that Tully girl. Are you on your way to join her?"

Despite her impassible face, her tone exuded resentment and envy, two feelings he didn't know Ashara was familiar with.

"I came here to bring you a sword that's been in your House for decades, nothing more, my lady," he answered curtly. "I'm on my way to Winterfell, to honor my sister's memory."

"Brotherly love," she commented, pursing her lips.

Ned mumbled something and left her, thinking she would spend the rest of her day blaming him and cursing the Starks. He was wide of the mark.

* * *

Stopping over in King's Landing cost him a lot, but Eddard had no other choice; he needed to tell Robert that Lyanna was dead and he wanted to inform Jon Arryn he was going home. Howland suggested that they would present the child as his bastard son. The situation was new and uncomfortable, not only because he had to lie, nor because lords usually ignored the children they had had with their mistresses and didn't recognize their bastards: Eddard had simply never envisioned the idea of having a bastard – the news from Riverrun a few weeks before had been a shock, even if he knew Catelyn and him would have children of their own someday.

During the few days they spent in the capital, Eddard became aware that the other men's look on him had changed with his new status. He had the reputation of a stern Northerner, of the kind of person they didn't invite to share a night of bender – the exact opposite of Robert, so to speak – and suddenly, he was the man who had come back from Dorne with a bastard boy. Southern lords sneered at him in his absence, imagining the straight man who was a living reproach for them had finally infringed his moral code. There was nothing to do, except clench his jaw and shrug off their japes.

He hastened his departure, once he understood that Lyanna's death and the grief they shared had allowed him to make peace with Robert. The new king was just as miserable as himself, attending the Small Council, but hardly listening to the debates, a forlorn look on his face. The lords of the Stormlands claimed he had lost the appetite for women and that he drank himself into stupors. Ned had doubts at first and, to his great shame, he felt the urge to check if they were right. His wanderings in the Red Keep and a short inquiry among the squires and servants in Maegor's Holdfast confirmed Robert had shut his door to the whores and spent his nights with the sole company of red wine.  _ Will he be more faithful to Lyanna now that she's dead? _

When he thought of the past year, Eddard remembered his disappointment when he had understood Robert would never be faithful to his sister – the wench he had found Robert with in the kitchens of the castle of Gulltown only proving what he already sensed – and how he hoped the search for Lyanna would strengthen a friendship their differences broke apart. He had tried to convince himself that if he had lost his father and Brandon, he could at least rely on Robert. His expectations had been ruined, day after day, whether Robert was by his side or not. Every decision, every battle widened the gap existing between them, until he had no other choice than leaving King's Landing to meet another person Robert's behavior had cruelly deceived: Stannis.

Robert wouldn't be more faithful to Lyanna after her death: Jon Arryn saw to put the finish touches to the alliance between the new king and House Lannister. Nobody knew when Cersei Lannister, the girl who fancied herself marrying Prince Rhaegar, would arrive in the capital. Her father Tywin would most likely accompany her himself, but he was still in King's Landing with his men. Eddard didn't want to see more of that mummer's farce.

He left a few hours after a raven arrived from Starfall: Lady Ashara Dayne had jumped from the top of one of the towers. Despite the search, nobody had found her corpse on the rocks below the cliff.  _ What was it? Why was she so sad? Who had hurt her so cruelly? _ All these questions churned in his head as Eddard led the Northerners out of the Red Keep and through the crowded streets of King's Landing.

* * *

Leaving Howland in the Neck was almost painful after months spent together.  _ I owe him so much: my life, for I could have died at the Tower of Joy; my son, for he protected the child during the first days as if he was his own boy. How can I ever repay him? _

Both told each other that they would meet again very soon, but they knew it was a lie: Howland was as attached to Greywater Watch as Ned loved Winterfell. They would stay where their duties called them instead of visiting each other. The thought that he was on his way to see his wife and his younger brother hardly compensate for his sadness to leave Howland.

For lack of his friend, he led his horse to the cart where the maester and his assistant took care of the child. In the basket they used as a crib, tightly wrapped in blankets, the baby slept peacefully, his pale face turned to the clouds. The dark hair covering his head and his grey eyes when he looked at Ned made him a true Stark.  _ That will be his chance and his curse, too. His chance, for as long as he looks like me no one will question his filiation, and his curse, because he will be a bastard for the rest of his life. _

The road to Winterfell was a long one; Eddard stole a glance at his son whose sleep wasn't disturbed by the cart bumping along the path and went back to the head of the column.

* * *

_ Winterfell will never be the same without her.  _ Under the cloud studded sky, the towers of Winterfell loomed over the soldiers and servants working in the inner yard as Eddard walked to the crypts, followed by a bunch of craftsmen.  _ Three more tombs in one year in the crypts. And what for? _ He tried to keep the images of the deceased at bay, but the atmosphere of the crypts and its smell got the better of his determination. The faint smell of humus in the confined space below the castle had always had the same effect on Ned; whenever he took the stairs leading to the crypts, melancholy overwhelmed him, as if the Kings of the North themselves tugged at his sleeve.

The sepulchers of the Starks of Winterfell were there, the likenesses of his ancestors carved in the grey stone, each of them protected by direwolves whose bared teeth threatened anyone who wanted to disturb their eternal rest.  _ I hope Lyanna won't feel alone here; she'll be the first woman in the crypts. _

He remembered how they played there, years ago, before his father sent him in the Vale. Lyanna played in the crypts like she had fun on the battlements or in the yard; the darkness and silence down there didn't frighten her. On the contrary, playing in the crypts meant just more fun for her because of the mysterious atmosphere. It meant bringing torches and wrapping yourself in your warmest cloak. More than once, they had shivered, hidden behind one of the tombs while Brandon looked for them. One day, Brandon and him had laughed heartily when Benjen had screamed in the dark, feeling some rat at his feet and mistaking the rodent for one of the dead Starks. He remembered how Lyanna had taken their younger brother in her arms, cradling him while he wept.  _ 'The dead can't harm you, Benjen. Look at them: why do you think they carry a sword? They protect us, you idiot. They're family.' _

_ She belongs here _ , he decided, his eyes sweeping the row of statues. _ She belongs here more than anyone. _

"My lord..." one of the craftsmen said tentatively, "have you decided where..."

Eddard sighed and gave his orders, insisting on the fact that Lyanna's statue should have the same characteristics than the other Starks, bearing a sword and having a direwolf at her feet. He contemplated the empty spot where Lyanna's sepulcher would be soon while the craftsmen examined it and he turned around when he heard footsteps behind him. His brother Benjen was here, a sad smile on his lips.

When the craftsmen left and went back to their workshops in Winter Town, the Stark siblings took the flight of stairs leading them to the busy yard, then walked to the Great Keep.

"Would you like to come with me see the child?" Eddard asked his brother.

Benjen nodded. There was no need to tell him exactly which child he was talking about; they both knew he meant the bastard son Eddard had brought back with him.  _ Jon. I need to tell Benjen about him, because he was with me and Howland at the Tourney. _

Jon shared a room with his wet-nurse, not very far from Eddard and Catelyn's bedchamber. When they came in, the boy slept and the nurse, understanding her presence was not necessary, silently retreated.

"Come," Eddard told Benjen, "have a look at him. I'm pretty sure you didn't look at your nephew since our arrival."

He stopped by the crib and leaned over the baby. Something probably disturbed Jon in his sleep – was it his voice or some sort of gripe? – for he whined and scowled with discomfort.

"You're wrong," Benjen whispered. "I come here at night, and I watch him sleeping."

He stepped forward and positioned himself by the cradle, across Eddard.

"A chance he doesn't have  _ his _ looks," Benjen commented. "Blond hair and purple eyes would have been difficult to explain. Gods, he looks so much like her."

Eddard's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to tell his brother who the child really was and that was why he had suggested this visit to Jon, but he didn't suspect Benjen already knew.

"How did you guess?" Eddard asked, leaning forward.

"I know you. You don't have bastards. You don't make women cry unless you have a very good reason. This child is a damn good reason, Eddard."

_ But I made Catelyn cry and she won't forgive me. _

A few days ago, when he had finally crossed the South Gate, she was waiting for him with her good-brother in the yard, ready to welcome Eddard, even if childbirth had exhausted her. She already knew that Lyanna was dead and expected to find a bereaved husband. She didn't expect him to hurry to the maester's cart and take the basket where a bastard boy feebly wailed, after dismounting. Her gentle smile vanished at once and she stayed there, petrified, unable to utter a word.

On his way to Winterfell, Eddard had had plenty of time to think about it. _The_ _more people know about the child, the more risks we take,_ Howland had said. If he told his wife, it was not only a risk for the child, but for them as well – Catelyn, himself, their son and the other children the Old Gods would give them. _She doesn't know what kind of threat you will have to face if someone learns who were his parents,_ Howland had warned him before their arrival in Greywater Watch. And telling her the truth would be the first breach in the promise he had made to Lyanna.

He knew he had to lie, but he also knew how smart Catelyn was. The slightest hint, the shortest moment of carelessness would put her on the trail. He had to make her blind, to cloud her judgment and he only knew one way: jealousy.

"What will you call our son?" she had asked him, once in their bedchamber.

Unlike Jon, the child she had borne slept in a crib near their bed. Even that difference between the two boys was painful when Eddard thought about it.

"I will call him Robb."

"Like King Robert?"

Her tone seemed detached and almost cheerful but he knew she was hurt. She took their son in her arms and held him out to Eddard. He complied and cradled his son, enjoying the smell of milk and fresh linen. _ Like Jon. _

"My lady, we need to talk."

Her begging look warned him he would have to crush the tiniest hope her heart still harbored. Ned clenched his jaw.

"Jon, my bastard son, will stay with us in Winterfell. It was my choice to bring him here so that he could have a good education and it is my decision to raise him with his... true-born siblings."

Eyes downcast and wringing her beautiful hands, she remained silent for a while.

"Is there something I can do to make you change your plans?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm afraid it's impossible."

He saw her shaking, then he noticed the tears at the corner of her eyes.

"What have I done?" she protested. "I know you didn't choose to marry me, you made it clear on our wedding night... but Gods, what have I done?"

His son still in his arms, he held out his hand but even this gesture infuriated her.

"No! Don't touch me!"

_ She believes my lies _ , he mused, as contradictory feelings took hold of him: relief, because Jon would be safer so long as she didn't know; guilt, because he had somewhat betrayed her; deception, for she had swallowed his infidelity so easily.  _ She imagines me cheating on her without a second thought, as if I was one of these lordlings who boast themselves about their conquests. _ The fact that she mistook him for some Northern brute who treated women like playthings hurt Eddard.

"Who is she?" Catelyn abruptly asked, looking at him defiantly. "Is she a noblewoman who welcomed you in her castle after a battle or is she a serving wench who scrubs floors?"

He remembered how his sister was pale on her deathbed and anger overwhelmed him.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he spat.

"Oh, no..." she whispered venomously, "I certainly don't know what I'm talking about, because I stayed in Riverrun, waiting for you, and I only crossed the Neck to give birth to your son, here, in Winterfell. You have a bastard son: very well. Many lords have bastards. What I don't understand is why you want him to grow up here. To tell you the truth, my lord, I can only think of one man who keeps his bastards under his roof even if he has true-born children: Lord Walder Frey, an unsavory character."

Awaken by his mother's high-pitched voice, the baby began to cry and Eddard tried – unsuccessfully – to comfort him.

"Who is this boy's mother?" Catelyn repeated, on the verge of tears.

Her insistence only brought back more images of Lyanna and Eddard felt sick when he remembered the blood soaking her bed and the pale hands he had hold in his to keep them warm. His silence incensed her; she stamped her feet by the crib. If he gave her another reason to blame him, she would be so hurt she would never ask again.

"You have no right to talk about her, my lady," he answered curtly. "You didn't know her and she's dead."

The venom pervading his words immediately had an effect on Catelyn: her big blue eyes widened and the sweet, kind-hearted girl he had married turned into a hopeless creature.

"You loved his mother," she said.

It sounded like a statement rather than a question. She wanted to be sure that her fears were justified, that he had not only slept with another woman but he had also loved her.  _ When I came back to her, she thought it was some kind of youthful indiscretion; now she believes it was a love affair. _

All he had to do was stay silent and look at her. He slowly raised his gaze, holding his son tightly and remembering his promise.  _ She meant everything to me.  _ Realizing his sister had been so important in his life was enough to endure Catelyn's jealousy and her anger. At least for a few heartbeats.

Fighting back tears, she stepped forward.

"Very well, my lord," she said coldly. "I won't forget my duties."

Catelyn took the baby from his arms and sat on the edge of the bed, cradling him. Their son had nestled against his chest and his sudden absence left an unpleasant sensation of emptiness and cold. He left and walked to Jon's room, stopped in front of the door, realizing how late it was. In Ned's eyes, the baby slept all day long – like Robb – so another visit wouldn't change anything but the wet-nurse he had found in the Neck certainly needed to rest. He finally decided to go to the Godswood and stayed there, by the pool of black water. That was how he spent his first night in Winterfell after his return.

Now that Benjen looked at him, the memory of his argument with Catelyn ashamed him.

"She's proud," his brother commented. "She won't forgive you easily for what she thinks you've done, but she'll love you all the same. She already does."

"How do you know?"

Benjen chuckled.

"You should have seen her before your arrival. And now, when she looks at you in the Great Hall... She's angry but she wouldn't be so furious if she didn't love you."

Ill-at-ease, Eddard felt the urge to change the subject and Jon, who opened his eyes and yawned, gave him the opportunity he was waiting for.

"Have you ever hold your nephew in your arms?" he asked his younger brother.

Benjen shook his head and Ned insisted until the baby was snuggling against his uncle's shoulder.

"Tell me, brother, how does it feel?" Eddard asked, crossing his arms about his chest and enjoying Benjen's hesitation.

"He's rather heavy, Lord Stark," he said with a mocking smile.

He brushed his nephew's temple, eliciting a tiny wailing.

"I know what you're doing, Ned," Benjen added, looking down at Jon, "but I won't change my mind. Next turn of the moon, I'll ride to Castle Black and join the Night's Watch. Putting a baby in my arms won't prevent me from taking the black."

His blue eyes were so serious Eddard sighed.

"You will have no lands, no family," he told his younger brother. "The Umbers have a girl-"

Benjen shook his head, adamant.

"You decided to take the black because you felt guilty," Eddard protested. "Because of what happened during the Tourney at Harrenhal... You're so young it doesn't make sense! You can't punish yourself like this."

"Says the man who acknowledged the paternity of someone else's child and almost turned away his wife by doing so. It's just the same, Ned. You're going to tell me you protect this boy because it's your way to honor Lyanna's memory and it's true. But you also do it to keep your guilt at bay. This boy is your sacrifice and the Night's Watch will be mine. I don't envy you, brother. The castle, the lovely but jealous wife, the weeping children... they're all yours."

Grabbing Jon's middle, Benjen lifted his nephew in the air, above his head.

"He's heavy," he repeated. "Must be the weight of guilt I'm feeling. Aye, I'm going to Castle Black because some of us need to keep watch on top of the Wall so that chubby boys like this one sleep well at night."

Despite the disenchantment his words conveyed, Benjen seemed serene as he put the baby in Ned's arms.

"Look, brother, he's smiling. He recognizes you."

_ Of course he recognizes me: I fed him with goat milk and I shared my furs with him for so many nights in Dorne he used to nestle against me when he was hungry, as if I could breastfeed him. I'm his father and his mother. I'm everything he has left. _

Maybe Benjen was right when he said Jon was heavy, but the baby was warm too. The sunbeams played on the child's face, making him open his eyes again.  _ He's dark-haired, and grey-eyed. A true Stark. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this story and I want to thank you for the kudos and comments you left: they made this so much more enjoyable.   
> You can read another POV on Robert's Rebellion in this series: Sandor Clegane's in 'Two-and-Ten' and a third one is to be posted soon: Jon Connington's.


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